BBB 


1M3 


MYRA  KELLY 


THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


* 


THE  ISLE  OF  DREAMS 


THE  ISLE  OF 
DREAMS 

Myra  Kelly 


Author  of 
'LITTLE   CITIZENS' 


D.  APPLETON   C&  CO. 
New  York  MCMVII 


COPYRIGHT,  1907,  BY 
D.   APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Published  April,  1907 


3521 


Co 


THE   ISLE   OF   DREAMS 


XT  was  an  imposing  house — wide  and 
dignified  and  cool,  though  one 
could  hardly  have  called  it  hand- 
some. Built  in  the  days  before  the  New  York 
architect  had  been  forced  up  into  the  air  to 
find  space,  it  stood  upon  a  piece  of  land  ample 
enough  to  allow  of  a  strip  of  green  and  a  few 
magnolias  before  its  windows,  and,  at  the  back, 
a  larger  patch  of  green  inclosing  a  fountain,  a 
flower  bed  or  so,  a  tree  or  two,  an  arbor,  and 
some  garden  chairs.  The  brass  trappings 
about  its  hospitable  door  were  polished  to  a 
dazzling  brilliance,  its  windows  were  bright, 
its  curtains  immaculate,  and  its  grass  plots 
carefully  trimmed. 

Wide    and    dignified   and   cool   was    Mrs. 
i 


ff  Ssle  of  ftreams 


Denis  also,  as  she  stood  upon  the  steps  in  the 
early  May  sunshine  and  surveyed  the  little 
park  across  the  street.  Spotless  was  her 
gown,  immaculate  her  apron,  and  bright  her 
smile. 

"  Laylocks !  "  she  murmured,  and  sniffed  the 
air.  "  Laylocks,  God  bless  'em !  " 

Around  the  corner  from  the  avenue  came 
the  postman,  and  Mrs.  Denis  watched  him 
quizzically  as  he  made  his  erratic  and  inter- 
rupted way  toward  her.  Up  some  steps  he 
went ;  down  others  he  vanished ;  but  always  he 
came  back  to  the  sunshine  again,  and  always 
he  came  nearer  to  the  calm  old  house  and  to 
Mrs.  Denis.  The  sheaf  of  letters  and  papers 
which  he  delivered  to  her  was  befittingly  large 
and  important,  and  she  sat  down  upon  the 
clean-swept  top  step  to  sort  them  into  piles 
upon  her  lap. 

"One  for  Miss  Merrill,"  she  counted. 
"  Two  for  Miss  Merrill.  One  for  Mr.  Drum- 
mond.  Three  for  Mr.  Drummond.  Four  for 
Miss  Merrill.  And,  oh,  deary,  deary,  me! 
here's  one  for  Miss  Merrill  in  the  bold,  free, 
striking  writing  of  a  man.  They  mostly  uses 

2 


Ssle   of  ^Dreams 


typewriters  and  young  females  to  write  their 
letters  for  'em  nowadays,  and  when  you  see 
the  bold,  free,  striking  writing  of  a  man  'tis 
a  very  dangerous  looking  sign.  Five  for  Mr. 
Drummond.  Two  for  Mrs.  Drummond. 
One  for  Mrs.  Denis — that's  the  milk  bill — 
and  a  very  fair  collection  altogether  I  call 
it,  except  for  that  bold,  free,  striking  one  for 
my  lamb.  They'll  take  her  away  from  me 
some  day,  I  suppose;  but  that's  life  and  na- 
ture, as  Denis  used  to  say.  Oh,  deary  me !  " 

Suddenly  the  park,  the  sky,  and  the  sun- 
shine vanished — shut  out  by  two  tiny  hands. 

"  Glory  be !  "  cried  Mrs.  Denis,  making  no 
effort  to  free  herself.  "  I  wonder  who,  now, 
would  be  up  to  such  contrary  tricks." 

"  Guess !  "  commanded  a  shrill  little  voice. 

"  It's  Mr.  Drummond,"  announced  the  vic- 
tim, "  and  fie  for  shame,  sir,  fie  for  shame." 

"  It  ain't  Mr.  Drummond.  Don't  you 
'member  he  went  away  yesterday  ?  " 

"  Now,  Miss  Katharine,  dear,  sure  I  ought 
to  have  knowed  your  sweet  voice.  It  is  your- 
self, avick." 

"  No,  it  ain't  Miss  Merrill." 
3 


"Uhe   Ssle   of  'Dreams 


"  Then  of  course  it's  Mrs.  Drummond,  for 
there's  no  one  else  for  it  to  be  outside  the  chil- 
dren, and  they'd  never  go  for  to  blind  a  poor 
old  body  on  such  a  lovely  morning.  I'm  sur- 
prised at  you,  Mrs.  Drummond,  ma'am,  I  am 
indeed." 

"  It  ain't  Mrs.  Drummond ! "  shrieked  the 
voice  in  high  glee.  "  She's  went  with  Mr. 
Drummond  and  left  them  babies  for  us  to 
take  care  of.  It's  me." 

And  the  hands  slipped  from  eyes  to  neck 
as  a  pair  of  thin  little  arms  clutched  Mrs. 
Denis  and  a  thin  little  body  tumbled  over  her 
shoulder  and  settled  itself  among  the  letters 
on  her  lap. 

"  It's  me,"  announced  the  shrill  voice ;  "  it's 
your  own  little  girl,  Doris  Gwendolin  Patricia 
Denis,  and  you  never  knowed  me.  You  never 
do  seem  able  to  guess  it's  me." 

"  Well,  maybe  I'd  remember  next  time," 
Mrs.  Denis  promised.  "  And  now  you  must 
take  the  letters  up.  Miss  Merrill  will  be  wait- 
ing above  for  you." 

Doris  Gwendolin  Patricia  allowed  herself 
to  be  stroked  into  presentable  trim — a  bow 
4 


Tjhe  Sste   of 


encouraged,  a  stocking  smoothed,  a  ribbon 
adjusted — and  set  out  to  execute  her  mission. 

The  interior  of  the  house  was  even  more 
calm  and  pleasant  than  its  exterior.  The  spa- 
cious hall,  the  wide  shallow-stepped  stairs 
with  curving  balustrade  and  windows  of  col- 
ored glass,  the  pictures,  statues,  palms,  tapes- 
tries, and  rugs  were  sources  of  constant  joy 
to  the  happy  people  who  lived  among  them, 
and  of  constant  envy  to  those  who  did  not. 
And  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  find  a 
group  as  contented  and  as  busy  as  that  over 
which  Mrs.  Denis  reigned  and  watched  with 
an  affection  which  nothing  could  alter. 

The  house  had  been  the  property  of  old 
Anthony  Merrill,  had  been  by  him  bequeathed 
to  his  son,  and  by  him  to  his  daughter  when, 
at  the  early  age  of  thirty,  he  had  followed  his 
wife  to  a  happier  world  and  had  left  Kath- 
arine, then  six  years  old,  nominally  to  the 
care  of  several  maiden  aunts  and  bachelor 
uncles,  but  really  to  the  devotion  of  Mrs. 
Denis,  who  had  been  maid,  nurse,  friend,  and 
comfort  to  his  ill-starred  little  family. 

Followed  a  childhood  harried  by  aunts  and 
5 


TJhe   Ssle  of  $) reams 


harassed  by  uncles.  Followed  a  girlhood  of 
boarding  schools.  Followed  womanhood, 
talent,  work,  travel.  And  always  Mrs.  Denis 
took  care  of  the  big  empty  house  and  kept 
it  ready  for  her  darling's  brief  returns.  Fol- 
lowed hard  times  of  work  and  struggle. 
Followed  sweet  times  of  success.  Followed  a 
meeting  with  Carrie  Sommerville,  a  friend  of 
Paris  study  time,  married  now  to  a  most  in- 
dulgent husband,  and  the  proud  mother  of 
two  charming  babies.  Followed  an  arrange- 
ment whereby  the  two  households  became  one, 
and  Katharine  by  this  cooperation  was  ena- 
bled to  live  becomingly  in  the  home  of  her 
fathers.  Followed  then  all  the  beatitudes 
for  Mrs.  Denis  and  for  Doris  Gwendolin 
Patricia,  a  waif  whom  she  had  adopted  in  the 
years  of  her  loneliness  and  had  named  after 
the  several  heroines  of  several  novels  with 
which  the  circulating  library  had  helped  to 
cheer  her  through  many  an  empty  hour.  The 
child  adored  Katharine  as  fondly  as  the  old 
lady  did.  It  was  her  most  blessed  privilege  to 
carry  Miss  Merrill's  letters  to  the  big  studio 
which  had  been  old  Anthony's  library,  and 
6 


&sle  of  ^Dreams 


whose  windows  overlooked  the  fountain,  the 
grass,  the  trees,  the  flower  beds,  and  the  gar- 
den chairs. 

On  this  bright  spring  morning  these  win- 
dows were  open  and  the  young  Chatelaine  was 
leaning  out  of  one  and  watching  the  Misses 
Drummond  in  the  garden  below.  Doris 
Gwendolin  Patricia  placed  the  letters  on  the 
abandoned  breakfast  table  and  approached 
to  worship  her  divinity.  The  rites  were  sim- 
ple and  soon  performed,  but  they  turned  Miss 
Merrill's  attention  to  her  devotee.  And  with 
her  attention  she  turned  her  face,  her  clever, 
alert  face  with  its  baffling  expression,  half 
whimsical,  half  surprised,  which  the  little  dev- 
otee had  been  taught  to  consider  the  most 
wonderful  face  in  the  world.  "  Though  her 
mother,  God  rest  her  soul,"  Mrs.  Denis  had 
always  maintained,  "  was  more  of  a  beauty 
at  her  age.  But  she  hadn't  Miss  Katharine's 
smile,  my  dear." 

Doris    Gwendolin    Patricia    regarded    the 

elder  Drummonds  apathetically,  the  younger 

Drummonds     superciliously,    but     Katharine 

with  an  idolatry  which  included  in  its  list  of 

7 


Sste  of  Breams 


deities  Miss  Merrill's  voice  and  eyes  and 
rooms  and  gowns — all  the  dainty  ways  and 
belongings  which  made  her  so  troublesome 
and  so  dear.  But  it  sternly  excluded  her 
friends.  While  Mrs.  Denis  viewed  with  sus- 
picion the  bold,  free,  striking  writing  of  a 
man,  this  more  ardent  spirit  warred  against 
everyone,  whether  man  or  woman,  who 
seemed  to  entertain  designs  upon  the  leisure 
or  affection  of  her  idol.  She  detested  all  of 
Miss  Merrill's  customary  visitors  and  re- 
garded newcomers  with  aversion.  And  later 
on  that  bright  May  morning  she  was  sent  up 
to  announce  the  advent  of  a  visitor,  among  all 
visitors  the  one  whom  she  most  detested. 
It  was  nearly  eleven  o'clock  when  she  crept 
in  to  whisper: 

"  Miss  Emerton  is  in  the  'ception  room. 
Gran'ma  can't  make  her  go  away.  Will  you 
see  her?  " 

"Of  course  she  will,"  a  voice  from  the 
stairs  interrupted,  and  Miss  Emerton  thrust 
herself  and  her  spring  millinery  upon  the 
scene. 

"  Katharine,  dear,  this  queer  little  mite 
8 


fsle  of  breams 


would  hardly  let  me  come  up.     But  I  knew 
you  would  never  refuse  to  see  me." 

If  Miss  Merrill's  eyes  were  the  mirror  of 
her  thoughts,  then  Miss  Emerton  was  nearer 
to  hearing  that  refusal  than  she  seemed  to 
guess.  But  she  was  not  of  the  hypersensitive 
type,  so  she  established  herself  comfortably  in 
a  deep  chair,  waved  her  guide  away,  and  com- 
menced in  a  high-pitched  monologue  to  an- 
nounce the  object  of  her  visit.  Katharine  lis- 
tened thoughtfully  with  her  telltale  eyes  upon 
her  work  until  the  nature  of  Gladys's  proposi- 
tion caught  and  held  her  interest. 


II 


you  would  never  do  it,"  Miss 
Emerton  reiterated  with  a  fretful 
glance  round  the  luxurious  studio 
when,  her  address  ended,  a  silence  had  en- 
sued. "  You  are  too  fond  of  your  name  and 
your  fame  and  your  glory." 

"  Nonsense,"  retorted  Katharine.  "  I  can't 
see  that  they  have  anything  to  do  with  the 
case."  And  she  crossed  to  the  cushion-heaped 
couch  and  propped  herself  comfortably  upon 
it.  "  I  should  love  to  do  all  those  things.  Is 
there  anything  else  ?  " 

"  Nothing  else,"  replied  Miss  Emerton,  still 
stiffly  but  with  a  slightly  softened  expression, 
for  Katharine  looked  small  and  fragile  in  her 
blue  painting  apron  among  the  cushions,  and 
Miss  Emerton  was  fond  of  her  in  a  patron- 
izing, elder-sisterly,  disapproving  way.  She 
rather  enjoyed  the  sensation  of  lecturing, 
10 


fsle  of 


sometimes  even  hectoring,  this  friend  of 
whom  nearly  everyone  else  stood  in  such  un- 
reasonable awe,  and  she  would  have  been 
greatly  surprised  if  anyone  had  hinted  that 
Katharine's  forbearance  and  gentleness  were 
caused,  not  by  a  becoming  wonder  at  Gladys's 
superior  mentality,  not  by  envy  of  her  social 
advantages,  but  by  a  wasted  pity  and  an  un- 
merited admiration. 

For  Gladys  Emerton  and  Katharine  Merrill 
had  entered  the  classes  of  a  great  Parisian 
teacher  at  the  same  time.  Both  wanted  to 
paint.  The  great  man  took  a  week  to  make 
his  decision.  To  Katharine  he  had  said: 
"  Work  and  you  will  go  far."  And  she  had 
straightway  consecrated  her  whole  life  to  the 
work.  Gladys's  easel  had  been  beside  Kath- 
arine's and  the  master  turned  to  survey  the 
canvas  upon  it,  and  the  self-confident  young 
woman  before  it  with  inscrutable  eyes.  Miss 
Emerton,  in  the  boastfulness  of  her  new 
French  with  her  old  accent,  made  some  re- 
mark intended  to  imply  that  she,  too,  had  only 
to  work  in  order  to  achieve,  and  the  old  man 
had  answered :  "  Assuredly,  Mademoiselle 
2  II 


Sste   of  'Dreams 


must  work — the  world  cannot  spare  her — 
but,  might  one  suggest? — at  something  else." 

Katharine  had  never  forgotten  the  sinister 
old  face,  the  circle  of  inquisitive  students,  the 
flush  and  the  shrug  with  which  Gladys  had 
heard  her  sentence.  To  Gladys  it  only  meant 
that  she  was  not  appreciated  by  one  silly  old 
man  in  a  dirty  coat.  To  Katharine  it  would 
have  meant  the  death  of  all  hope  forever. 
And  when  her  return  to  New  York  had 
brought  about  a  renewal  of  this  old  acquaint- 
ance, she  had  marveled  at  the  courage  of  the 
rejected  claimant  for  the  gift  which  had  been 
granted  her.  Gladys  never  complained  nor 
whimpered.  She  even  sometimes  referred, 
with  a  calm  courage  which  brought  tears 
to  Katharine's  eyes,  to  the  days  when  they 
had  studied  and  tried  together,  but  any  hint 
at  the  difference  in  their  positions  left  Kath- 
arine powerless  in  the  clutches  of  her  friend. 
She  stretched  a  hand  to  Gladys  now  and 
patted  that  ruffled  young  woman  upon  the 
tailor-made  shoulder. 

"  Then,  of  course,  I'll  do  it.  Of  course,  old 
girl,"  she  promised. 

12 


"Uhe  Jsle  of  ftreams 


"  I  wonder  if  you  will.  You  are  so  fond  of 
dropping  into  attitudes  in  the  center  of  the 
stage  and  of  appropriating  all  the  admiration 
for  miles  around." 

"  Base  ingratitude !  "  cried  Katharine.  "  I 
have  just  made  up  my  mind  to  renounce  all 
these  things  for  your  sake,  to  go  with  you  to 
stay  with  these  friends  of  yours;  to  leave  all 
my  best  pretties  at  home,  to  be  sulky,  dis- 
heveled, and  disagreeable;  to  sit  in  corners 
and  glower  and  suck  my  thumb.  But  go  on 
with  the  letter.  You've  read  me  only  the  first 
sentence.  It  promises  well,  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  thought  so  when  it  came  this  morning, 
but  now  I'm  not  so  sure.  If  you  are  going  to 
scintillate  according  to  your  custom,  I'd  rather 
stay  at  home  or  go  alone.  Do  you  think," 
in  happy  inspiration,  "  that  I  might  ?  Say  you 
are  too  busy  to  leave  town,  or  something  like 
that?" 

"  You  must  read  me  the  letter,"  said  Kath- 
arine. "  I  can't  tell  you  until  I  hear  it." 

Gladys  prepared  to  obey,  but  there  was  a 
pucker  of  insubordination  in  her  lower  lip  and 
a  glance  of  something  like  jealousy  in  her  eye. 
13 


jsle   of  Breams 


" '  My  dear  Miss  Emerton,' "  she  began. 
" '  My  brother  tells  me  that  you  know  the 
Miss  Katharine  Merrill  whose  wonderful 
paintings  are  daily  coming  to  be  more  widely 
and  highly  appreciated.'  " 

"  You  may  skip  all  that  part,"  interjected 
the  young  person  among  the  pillows.  "  Go  on 
with  the  rest." 

" '  Could  you  not  persuade  her  to  accom- 
pany you  on  a  week-end  visit  to  the  Island? 
The  place  is,  perhaps,  at  its  best  during  this 
month,  and  the  apple  blossoms  are  due  next 
Saturday.  My  mother ' 

"  She  presides  over  his  household,  you 
know,"  interpolated  Gladys. 

" '  — is  writing  to  you  both,  but  begs  that 
you  will  forego  the  formality  of  an  inter- 
change of  visits,  since  she  is  already  estab- 
lished with  me  for  the  summer.  Yours  very 
sincerely,  Robert  Ford.' " 

"  I  call  it  a  charming  letter,"  was  Kath- 
arine's verdict.  "  And  it  comes  most  oppor- 
tunely for  me.  Carrie  Drummond  and  I  have 
lent  our  studios — those  big  doors  open,  you 
know,  and  make  such  a  jolly  room  out  of  the 
14 


Js/e  of  ^Dreams 


two — to  a  lunatic  of  a  cousin  of  hers  with  a 
mania  for  entertaining  and  no  place  to  do  it 
in.  I  shall  like  being  away  from  the  orgy. 
They  dragged  me  to  the  last,  but  I'll  never 
be  taken  alive  at  another.  It's  different  with 
Carrie;  the  creature  is  a  cousin  of  hers,  and 
some  one  must  maintain  decorum.  So  she's 
coming  back  from  Maryland  to  do  it.  But  I 
shall  be  glad  to  escape  it  all." 

"  No,  no,"  Gladys  urged  with  a  careful  dis- 
ingenuousness.  "  You  mustn't  make  any  sac- 
rifice on  my  account.  I  can  accept  the 
invitation  and  say  that  you  have  another  en- 
gagement." 

"Hardly,  I  think,  after  that  letter.  I'm 
afraid  it's  a  case  of  united  we  go  or  divided 
we  stay." 

"  And  you  will  really  promise " 

"Not  to  outshine  you?  Readily,  since  I 
couldn't  if  I  tried.  You  don't  appreciate  what 
a  guidebook  would  call  your  great  natural 
attractiveness.  If  only  I  had  your  height  and 
eyes  and  hair!  Do  you  know,  oh  foolish  vir- 
gin, that  with  the  addition  of  three  celery 
curls  and  a  flowered  bedquilt,  you'd  be  a  typi- 
15 


Sste   of  ^Dreams 


cal  Aubrey  Beardsley  woman?  You  throw  us 
all  into  the  background." 

"But  will  you  stay  there?"  Gladys  per- 
sisted. 

"Of  course  I  shall.  I  shall  be  the  back- 
ground. I  can  see  the  picture  now,"  and  she 
regarded  her  friend  through  narrowed  eyelids 
with  abstracted  gaze.  "  Listen !  I'll  describe 
it  to  you.  The  Central  Female  Figure  grace- 
fully coiled  on  a  rock  under  a  parasol  and  a 
shady  tree.  Beside  her  the  Central  Male  Fig- 
ure, merely  sketched  in  at  present  but  already 
showing  interesting  elements.  The  Back- 
ground repeating  motif  of  Foreground, 
shows  the  friend  of  C.  F.  F.  and  the  brother 
of  C.  M.  F. — both  very  small  and  hazy — un- 
der a  smaller  parasol  and  a  blighted  tree." 

Gladys  showed  little  interest  in  the  portrait 
group.  Her  unsteady  attention  had  already 
fallen  upon  another  aspect. 

"  And  you  really  think  that  we  ought  to 
go?"  she  asked.  "That  they  really  want 
us?" 

"  Most  likely  not,"  laughed  Katharine. 
"  Hospitality  may  be  an  insanity  with  him,  as 
16 


TJho  jsle  of  ^Dreams 


it  is  with  Carrie's  awful  cousin.  O  Gladys, 
Gladys  dear,"  she  went  on  earnestly,  "the 
world  is  a  much  kinder  place  than  you  think, 
and  the  people  in  it  are  kinder,  too.  Of 
course  Mr.  Ford  wants  us — you  at  least — be- 
cause his  brother  does.  But  why  drag  me  in?" 

"  I  can't  imagine,"  Gladys  mused  with  a 
startling  frankness,  crossing  to  the  open  win- 
dow and  looking  fretfully  down  upon  the  gar- 
den. The  surety  of  her  self-conceit  was  grow- 
ing less  than  sure.  She  had  always  ignored 
any  charms  which  were  not  exemplified  in  her 
own  aristocratic  if  somewhat  acidulated  ap- 
pearance, but  it  was  being  borne  in  upon  her 
now  that  there  was  a  winsomeness,  a  cheeri- 
ness,  and  an  unaffected  trustfulness  about 
Katharine  Merrill  which  combined  danger- 
ously with  her  admittedly  great  talent  and  her 
very  evident  youth.  And  Gladys  had  no  inten- 
tion of  being  outshone. 

"But  you  can't  help  being  yourself,"  she 
went  on  crossly.  "  And  people  have  such  a 
way  of  taking  to  you  when  they  meet  you 
first.  Of  course  it  is  because  you  are  sup- 
posed to  be  a  romantic  figure — young  and 
17 


"Uhe  Ssle   of  *D reams 


alone  in  the  world  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
But  I  must  say  I  don't  see  what  you  have  to 
complain  of.  Everyone  in  this  house  is  de- 
voted to  you,  you  are  popular,  free  as  air, 
and  your  pictures " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  Katharine  cried,  fol- 
lowing her  to  the  window,  all  compunction 
now,  though  Gladys  in  this  particular  mood 
was  particularly  hard  to  bear.  "  I  know 
everyone  is  dear  to  me.  See  how  good  you 
are !  I  was  just  wondering  how  I  could  es- 
cape the  hospitable  cousin,  and  you  came  in 
with  this  delightful  plan." 

"Oh,  it  wouldn't  be  delightful  for  you! 
The  Fords  are  greatly  prejudiced  against  the 
public  woman." 

"  All  the  better  for  Backgrounds,  my  dear. 
Think  how  they  will  regard  a  sulky  public 
woman ! " 

"  Could  you,"  suggested  Miss  Emerton, 
turning  to  her  hostess,  "could  you,  perhaps, 
manage  a  cigarette  ?  " 

"  I  might  if  you  would  like  to  spend  the 
rest  of  the  time  in  smoothing  my  fevered  pil- 
low and  shaking  out  my  restless  brow.  One 
18 


"Uho  ysfe  of  ^Dreams 


infers  that  they  disapprove  of  cigarettes.  I'll 
sacrifice  my  vanity  to  your  love,  but  not,  sweet 
maid,  my  health.  And  now,  is  it  decided  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  will  be " 

"  Stupid  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and " 

"  Disagreeable  ?  " 

"Yes,  and " 

"  If  I'll  sit  in  dark  corners  with  the  host 
person  while  you  disport  with  the  brother?" 

"  But  he  is  very  nice.  Quite  as  nice  as  the 
brother.  Nicer,  perhaps.  Of  course  Jack  is 
my  friend,  but  I  don't  want  to  slight  the  other. 
He  is  the  host,  as  you  say,  and  rather  charm- 
ing. In  fact — well,  to  put  it  plainly — you 

"  I  see  that  you  don't  know  your  own 
mind,"  laughed  Katharine.  "In  which  case 
you  don't  care  much  for  either.  Just  give  me 
a  hint  when  you  feel  up  to  it.  And  now  for 
details.  Where  do  they  live?  Where  is  this 
island  ? " 

"Off  the  Connecticut  shore.  Robert  Ford 
owns  it  all  and  lives  there  in  the  dearest  of 
rambling  houses  crammed  with  all  sorts  of 
19 


Ssle  of  ^Dreams 


things  he  gathered  in  '  furrin  parts.'  He's 
been  twice  round  the  world.  There's  a  sea 
wall  in  front  and  quaint  gardens  behind.  I 
spent  a  Sunday  afternoon  there  last  winter, 
and  it  was  all  delightful,  even  in  the  snow." 

"  It  surely  sounds  alluring.  Are  there  any 
boats  ?  May  I  take  my  yachting  things  ?  " 

"  Are  they  old  ?  " 

"  As  time." 

"  Then  take  them.  There  may  be  boats, 
and  /  might  take  the  frock  I  got  this  year 
for  Nassau." 

"  And  the  people  ?  In  the  words  of  the  in- 
telligence office,  how  many  in  family  ?  " 

"  Three.     The  mother  and  the  two  sons." 

"  None  of  whom  will  approve  of  me,"  com- 
mented Katharine  ruefully.  "  Well,  the  lime- 
light there  won't  blind  me.  But  we'll  go.  It 
will  be  a  healthy  experience  for  me.  And  in 
the  country  one  can  keep  away  from  people  so 
easily.  I  might  even  take  my  paints  and 
things  and  do  a  little  sketching." 

"Then  I  won't  go.  That  would  be  the 
worst  thing  you  could  possibly  do.  To  paint ! 
— to  be  a  genius  there  before  their  very  eyes !  " 
20 


Ssle  of  breams 


"  All  right,"  said  the  patient  Katharine,  "  I 
won't.  I'll  suck  my  thumb  until  you  seal  one 
brother  with  your  favor.  Then  I  shall  try  to 
be  a  comfort  to  the  other.  One  could  almost 
make  a  poem  out  of  that.  Other  and  brother, 
you  know." 


21 


Ill 


OFF  the  southern  shore  of  Connecti- 
cut there  are  several  small  islands, 
well  wooded,  fertile,  and  pictur- 
esquely separated  from  one  another  and  from 
the  mainland  by  bays  and  coves  of  Long 
Island  Sound.  Some  are  used  by  the  Govern- 
ment as  lighthouse  stations,  some  are  too  wild 
or  too  small  to  warrant  cultivation,  some  sup- 
port small  but  thrifty  native  communities,  and 
some  are  appointed  as  luxurious  country 
homes  by  people  who  prefer  retirement,  natu- 
ral beauty,  and  "  a  life  on  the  ocean  wave " 
to  crowded  summer  resorts. 

Robert  Ford's  island  was  one  of  the  latter. 
It  comprised  some  two  hundred  acres  and  lay 
at  a  distance  of  about  a  mile  from  the  shore. 
The  house  was  a  low,  white  structure,  with  a 
tower  at  one  end,  built  according  to  no  defi- 

22 


Ssle  of  Breams 


nite  school  or  period,  but  it  was  spacious, 
many-windowed,  and  perfectly  adapted  to  its 
owner's  ideal  of  country  life,  which  was  to 
gather  together  as  many  congenial  people  as 
possible  and  then,  after  placing  all  sorts  of  de- 
vices for  amusement  at  their  command,  to  go 
placidly  about  his  own  employments  and  en- 
joyments. If  these  could  be  shared  with  any 
or  all  of  his  guests,  then  so  much  the  better. 
If  not,  then  not  so  very  much  worse. 

And  it  would  be  a  holiday  maker  of  a  very 
unusual  turn  who  could  not  find  some  outlet 
for  his  energies.  In  the  house  there  were 
books  and  billiards,  a  music  room,  a  smoking 
room,  and  the  well-equipped  observatory  in 
the  tower.  Out  of  doors  there  were  wooded 
walks  and  bordered  gardens,  greenhouses  and 
orchards,  the  tennis  lawn  and  the  terraces 
where  one  could  lounge  for  hours  in  a  deck 
chair  and  watch  the  wide  expanse  of  sea  and 
land  and  sky,  always  beautiful  and  ever 
changing.  A  sea  wall  separated  the  lawn 
from  the  water,  and  at  one  end  of  it  there  was 
a  boathouse  presided  over  by  a  very  salty  salt 
and  boasting  small  craft  of  several  varieties 
23 


fsle   of  ^Dreams 


of  sail  and  motor,  besides  the  seventy-foot 
steam  yacht  which  was  the  object  of  intense 
pride  and  solicitude  on  the  part  of  the  salty 
salt. 

If  all  these  resources  failed  there  was  still 
the  mainland  where,  besides  the  private  land- 
ing stage  a  short  distance  from  the  rail- 
road station,  the  discontented  one  or  two 
could  find  the  garage  and  a  despondent  native 
of  sunny  France  who  had  been  in  Ford's  em- 
ployment for  nearly  two  years  and  who  had 
never,  in  that  time,  been  known  to  volunteer 
a  remark  or  to  allow  himself  any  pleasure 
save  that  of  quarreling  violently  with  Captain 
Jameson  on  the  details  and  management  of 
motor  boats.  Since  each  disputant  confined 
himself  to  his  native  tongue,  and  since  the  dis- 
cussion necessarily  bristled  with  technicalities 
and  profanity,  there  was  no  danger  that  any 
understanding  would  arise  between  them  to 
deprive  the  exile  of  his  only  relaxation.  Cap- 
tain Jameson  spoke  of  his  colleague  officially 
and  nautically  as  "  Pier  " ;  but  unofficially  and 
in  the  circle  of  his  family,  which  consisted 
of  a  widowed  sister  who  lived  with  him  in  the 
24 


'Uho  Sste   of  %)roams 


upper  part  of  the  boathouse,  he  designated 
him  as  "  That  Dago."  And  he  always  trans- 
shipped a  passenger  from  boat  to  auto  with 
a  chastened  sense  of  having  looked  his  last 
upon  a  fellow  creature.  Pierre,  meanwhile, 
felt  that  it  was  but  a  pitiful  postponement  of 
the  inevitable  to  steer  his  charges  through  the 
perils  of  city  traffic  or  suburban  dog  and  trol- 
ley, only  to  deliver  them  to  Captain  Jameson 
and  a  watery  grave.  These  henchmen,  like 
all  the  other  servants  of  the  household,  were 
absolutely  at  the  command  of  the  guests  upon 
the  island,  and  took  orders  with  a  well-trained 
alacrity  from  anyone  who  gave  them. 

The  Island  bountifully  fulfilled  Robert 
Ford's  promise  and  his  guests'  anticipation 
on  Friday  afternoon,  at  which  time  Miss  Em- 
erton  and  her  friend  were  expected.  Pierre 
and  the  car  were  at  the  station,  Captain  Jame- 
son and  the  motor  boat  were  at  the  dock,  and 
Robert  Ford  was  on  the  platform  when  the 
train  drew  in. 

A  slim  young  woman,  faultlessly  but  unob- 
trusively gowned,  was  the  first  to  alight,  and 
Ford  was  conscious  of  a  moment  of  rebellion 
25 


"Uhe  Ssle   of  ^Dreams 


as  he  told  himself  that  he  had  not  come  in 
search  of  anything  so  normal  and  bright-eyed 
as  she.  He  had  known  too  many  artists  to 
expect  a  really  famous  one  to  wear  a  costume 
of  bright  brown  with  hair  and  eyes  to  match 
and  a  dash  of  pink  in  cheeks  and  hat.  "  Now, 
this,"  he  realized,  "  is  more  my  sort  of  thing," 
as  a  much-dressed  figure  was  assisted  to  the 
platform  by  an  obsequious  guard.  Amidst 
clouds  of  chiffon  veil  and  billows  of  feather 
boa  he  recognized  Miss  Emerton  and  hurried 
to  greet  her. 

"  It  was  so  kind  of  you  to  come,"  he  as- 
sured her.  "  But  Miss  Merrill  ?  Did  she 
change  her  mind?" 

"  No,  indeed,"  gushed  Gladys.  "  Let  me 
present  you  to  her,"  and  Robert  wheeled  in 
obedience  to  her  gesture  and  found  himself 
smiling  into  the  brown  eyes. 

A  moment  afterwards  and  he  had  possessed 
himself  of  their  baggage  checks,  secured  their 
belongings,  and  bestowed  them  all  in  the  auto- 
mobile. Pierre  conveyed  the  party  to  the 
dock  and  recommended  their  bodies  to  Cap- 
tain Jameson  and  their  souls  to  God. 
26 


fsle  of  ^Dreams 


And  Katharine's  spirits,  which  during  the 
short  journey  down  from  town  had  sunk  to  a 
low  loneliness,  began  to  recover  their  usual 
cheer.  She  had  found  ample  time  and  cause, 
even  in  that  short  space,  to  regret  having  for- 
feited the  care  of  Mrs.  Denis  and  the  com- 
panionship of  the  returning  Drummonds  for 
the  very  uncertain  joy  of  spending  some  days 
in  a  strange  place  and  with  strangers.  A  brief 
reflection  and  a  few  moments  of  Miss  Emer- 
ton's  conversation  had  made  it  clear  to  Kath- 
arine that  she  need  not  expect  much  of  that 
young  lady's  society  or  attention.  But  the 
beauty  of  the  woods  and  fields  through  which 
the  train  had  passed  consoled  her  somewhat, 
and  her  first  surprised  impression  of  Ford 
further  reassured  her.  She  had  evolved  a 
portrait  of  her  host  as  unlike  the  reality  as 
she  was  unlike  his  ideal  artist.  She  had  not 
been  prepared  for  a  well-knit,  athletic  figure, 
a  face  grave  and  almost  stern,  but  capable  of 
a  smile  of  such  kindliness,  wisdom,  and  enjoy- 
ment as  made  her  feel  that  Gladys  had  been 
understating  the  case  when  she  described  the 
host  as  "  nearly  as  charming  as  his  brother." 
3  27 


fsle   of  'Dreams 


Once  on  the  water,  she  was  further  com- 
forted and  repaid  a  thousandfold.  The  Isl- 
and, growing  every  moment  clearer  as  they 
approached  it,  seemed  the  very  embodiment 
of  the  spring  which  was  making  such  pitiful 
pleas  for  a  hearing  in  the  crowded  city.  Here 
it  was  riotous  yet  gentle — enthroned  yet 
shrinking.  The  transparent  green  of  grass, 
the  pink  of  apple  trees,  the  warm  brown  of 
new-plowed  earth,  the  shining  blue  of  sky 
and  sea  filled  Katharine's  eyes  with  delight 
and  pride.  For  here  were  the  powers  she 
served — nature  and  color  and  light!  And 
straightway  she  forgot  the  reason  of  her  be- 
ing there.  She  forgot  her  companions,  her 
role,  her  very  self,  and  only  remembered  that 
she  was  a  servant  greatly  blessed  and  that 
there  was  still  work  for  her  to  do  in  the  beau- 
tiful kingdom  of  her  rulers. 

The  very  wind  summoned  her.  Sweet  of 
flower  and  earth  and  wave,  it  blew  across  her 
face,  loosening  little  tendrils  of  her  sunny 
hair  and  bearing  her  memory  back  to  Brittany 
and  three  springs  ago.  How  hard  she  had 
worked — and  how  happily! 
28 


fsle  of  ^Dreams 


The  same  wind  was  flapping  and  snapping 
through  Miss  Emerton's  flying  jib  and  top- 
sails, and  she  was  so  preoccupied  with  her 
unruly  rigging  that  Ford  thought  it  kinder  to 
desist  even  from  the  very  desultory  conver- 
sation with  which  they  had  beguiled  thus 
much  of  the  way.  An  unusually  vicious  on- 
slaught drove  Gladys  to  the  cabin  and  a 
looking  glass,  and  Ford  turned  to  his  other 
guest. 

"  It  is  nearly  over  now,"  he  began ;  "  you 
can  see  the  house.  That  long  white  one  on 
the  hill." 

"I  can  see  no  other,"  she  said,  and  Ford 
liked  the  clear-cut  enunciation  with  which  she 
said  it,  and  recognized  the  influence  of  French 
sojourn  in  the  precision  of  her  consonants. 
"  Are  you  an  Alexander  Selkirk,  monarch  of 
all  you  survey?  The  feeling  must  be  intoxi- 
cating." 

"  It  should  not  be.  Two  hundred  acres  are 
really  not  overwhelming.  Though  I  grant 
you  that  having  it  all  in  one  tight  little  island 
is  a  great  advantage." 

"  It  is  the  heart  of  the  whole  thing,"  cried 
29 


"Uhe  fslo   of  'Dreams 


Katharine.  "  It  is  almost  like  the  very  Good 
Place  we  are  told  about,  where  '  moths  do 
not  break  in  nor  steal,  nor  thieves  grow 
rusty.'  " 

"  But  as  to  being  monarch  of  it  all,  I'm  not 
so  sure,"  he  laughed,  as  a  white  figure  ap- 
peared upon  the  terrace  and  commenced  to 
descend  the  path  leading  to  the  boathouse. 
"  I  may  be  that  in  name,  but  there's  the  pres- 
ent regent,  my  mother." 

She  was  waiting  for  them  when  they  disem- 
barked, and  Katharine  found  no  violent  dis- 
play of  disapprobation  in  her  greeting  nor  in 
that  of  the  other  son  who  stood  beside  her, 
and  who  took  such  evident  pride  and  pleasure 
in  her  dainty  and  surprising  youthfulness. 
The  Ford  trio,  in  fact,  seemed  frankly  de- 
lighted with  one  another.  Katharine,  as  the 
whole  group  made  its  leisurely  way  to  the 
house,  saw  the  lady  slip  her  hand  into  that 
of  her  elder  son  quite  as  a  matter  of  course 
and  habit. 

Tea  ensued.  The  guests  were  shown  to 
their  rooms,  and  could  hardly  make  up  their 
minds  to  leave  those  bowers  of  mahogany  and 
30 


fstff  of  ftreams 


chintz,  where  every  window  framed  a  picture, 
where  flowers  abounded,  and  a  bright-faced 
maid  ministered  unto  them. 

Down  in  the  wide  living  room  the  Fords 
were  waiting  and  beguiling  the  time  with  con- 
versation. 

"I  give  you  my  word,"  Robert  repeated, 
"  that  I  never  was  more  surprised  in  my  life. 
Why,  she's  just  like  any  other  of  the  nicest 
girls  we  know.  The  sort  of  girl  one's  friends 
have  for  sisters.  There  are  numbers  of 
people  we  might  have  had  to  meet  her  if  I 
had  only  known.  What  do  you  think  of  her, 
mother  ?  " 

"  That  she  has  designs  upon  us,  of 
course,"  laughed  Jack.  "  Doesn't  she  al- 
ways think  that  of  every  female  between  six 
and  sixty." 

"  Jack,"  his  mother  admonished,  "  don't  be 
ungrateful.  You  two  boys  would  have  been 
unhappily  married  over  and  over  again  if  I 
hadn't  warned  and  protected  you."  And,  as 
Jack  collapsed  under  this  charge  of  averted 
bigamy,  she  turned  to  Robert. 

"  Seriously,  dear,"  she  was  beginning  wist- 


TJhe  fslo  of  Breams 


fully,  when  he  established  himself  before  her 
resolutely,  and : 

"Seriously,  dearest,"  he  interrupted,  "you 
must  listen  first  to  me.  That  poor  child " 

"Child!"  repeated  Mrs.  Ford.  "She's  at 
least  twenty-eight." 

"  Twenty-five,"  Jack  emerged  from  his  con- 
science to  amend.  "  Miss  Emerton  told  me. 
Same  age  herself." 

"  Just  as  I  surmised/'  his  mother  placidly 
smiled.  "  Thirty  if  they  are  a  day." 

"  Her  age  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Jack's 
thirty  and  I'm  forty,  yet  you  know  the  dan- 
gers you  shield  us  from.  Well,  to  go  back. 
That  poor  child  is  in  six  times  as  perilous  a 
position  as  we  are.  Really,  you  ought  to  do 
something  about  it.  "  It's  '  a  subject  made 
to  your  hand.'  She's  an  orphan  with  a 
comfortable  income,  a  house  in  town,  and 
a  very  great  talent.  You  grant  the  talent, 
I  hope." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  his  mother  admitted,  "  no  one 
can  deny  that." 

"  And  I  chance  to  know  about  the  house 
and  income.  She  can  earn  more  money  in  a 
32 


Jslo   of  'Dreams 


year  than  many  of  the  men  whom  one  meets, 
and  she  is — well,  you  see  what  she  is." 

"If  you've  forgotten,  you'll  have  another 
chance.  I  hear  them  on  the  stairs,"  warned 
Jack. 


33 


IV 


OURING  the  first  few  hours  of  that 
afternoon  Katharine  was  puzzled. 
In  outward  seeming  there  was  little 
to  choose  between  the  brothers.  Jack  was 
sufficiently  like  his  brother  and  sufficiently  un- 
like, and  they  were  both  sufficiently  brave  in 
controlling  their  dislike  for  the  public  woman. 
Gladys  treated  them  both  with  the  same  jeal- 
ously careful  indifference,  and  they  reflected 
the  indifference  without  the  jealousy.  The  in- 
sistence with  which  Robert  proposed  that  he 
and  Miss  Merrill  should  stroll  through  the 
garden  and  round  the  island,  while  Jack 
should  take  Miss  Emerton  out  in  the  canoe, 
was  only  equaled  by  the  empressement  with 
which  Jack  proposed  that  Miss  Merrill  should 
accompany  him  in  his  canoe  what  time  Robert 
should  show  the  gardens  and  the  island  to 
Miss  Emerton. 

34 


e  fsle   of  'Dreams 


Finding  neither  guidance  nor  suggestion  in 
the  face  of  the  Central  Female  Figure,  the 
Background  accepted  both  invitations,  and  en- 
deavored to  determine  from  the  resulting  con- 
versations which  Ford  had  succumbed  to  the 
elongated  charms  of  Gladys.  But  the  broth- 
ers were  noncommittal. 

Robert,  when  he  led  her  out  into  the  quiet 
garden,  seemed  quite  content  to  bear  the  heav- 
ier burden  of  the  conversation.  He  told  her 
of  how,  when  a  boy  with  his  first  sailboat, 
he  had  landed  upon  the  island  one  day  to 
build  a  fire  and  eat  his  lunch.  Of  how  the 
old  fisherman  who  then  owned  it  had  showed 
him  its  beauties  and  its  advantages,  its  trees 
and  brooks,  and  its  gently  sloping  hill.  Of 
how  he  had  made  many  further  visits  to  the 
island  during  that  same  summer,  of  his  first 
sailboat:  "A  cat,  Miss  Merrill,  so  overloaded 
with  canvas  that  I  always  had  to  sit  on  the 
windward  rail  before  I  hoisted  sail.  I  often 
wonder  why  I  was  not  drowned.  Reserved, 
perhaps,  for  the  other  fate.  Well,  and  so  I 
went  to  college,  then  to  Europe,  then  to  the 
four  corners  of  the  earth,  and  for  years  I 
35 


Sste  of  Breams 


rarely  thought  of  the  island  and  of  my  old 
friend." 

"  I  know,  I  understand,"  said  Katharine,  as 
he  paused.  "  One  hates  to  grant  any  truth  to 
a  proverb,  but  absence  does  make  the  heart 
grow  fonder — of  somebody  else.  I  spent  three 
consecutive  years  in  France,  and  I  nearly  for- 
got Denis." 

Ford  started  slightly,  and  the  silence  lasted 
for  yet  a  little  while  before  he  spoke  again, 
and  with  something  less  than  his  earlier  con- 
centration. 

"  I  had  been  at  home  for  a  season  or  two 
when  I  chanced  to  sail  in  these  waters  with 
some  friends  of  mine.  I  learned  that  the  old 
man  was  dead  and  the  place  for  sale.  So  I 
bought  it.  I  had  never  seen,  in  all  my  travels, 
a  piece  of  land  I  so  much  desired.  I've  de- 
voted five  years  to  it,  and  I've  found  it  as 
responsive,  as  grateful,  and  as  sympathetic  as 
many  a  man.  More  so  than  any  woman." 

"Did  you  ever  devote  five  years  to  a 
woman?" 

"  Never  could — yet,  though  I've  often  tried 
to.  But  you  can't  get  tired  of  a  thing  which 
36 


Ss/e    of  'Dreams 


is  always  waiting  for  you,  always  makes  you 
comfortable,  never  asks  for  anything  and 
makes  the  most  amazing  best  of  what  you 
give  it." 

"  It  certainly  sounds  unfeminine,"  Kath- 
arine agreed.  "But  it  hardly  strikes  one  as 
being  masculine  either." 

"  No,"  he  acquiesced,  "  it  is  altogether 
more  than  human.  I  heard  Jack  arranging  to 
show  you  about,  but  I  want  to  claim  that  privi- 
lege. I  really  can  do  it  better  than  he,  you 
know." 

"  But  Miss  Emerton — "  Katharine  was  be- 
ginning. 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  host.  "  I  had  nearly 
forgotten  her.  Jack  shall  be  her  guide.  He 
was  very  keen  about  having  her  out.  They 
are  old  friends,  you  know.  I've  met  her  only 
once  before.  Jack  brought  out  a  number  of 
his  friends  one  Sunday  afternoon."  And 
Katharine  inferred  that  her  post  in  the  back- 
ground would  be  shared  and  enlivened  by  the 
companionship  of  her  host. 

It  was  certainly  enlivened.  Everything — 
from  the  gray  carved  lions  on  the  terrace  to 
37 


fste  of  'Dreams 


the  queer  old  books  in  the  library — had  its 
own  story,  and  he  told  them  well.  The  trim 
garden  was  "  after "  one  he  had  looked  out 
on  for  a  month  from  some  delightful  lodg- 
ings in  a  quaint  Welsh  village  where  he  had 
gone  to  fish  and  had  stayed  to  shoot.  The 
ivy  on  the  sundial  was  from  St.  Helena;  the 
sundial  itself  from  a  little  Italian  town. 
The  queerly  wrought  lamp  in  the  hall,  the 
group  of  silver  cups  in  the  smoking  room, 
the  mounted  heads  of  moose  and  tiger  and 
lion  in  the  hall,  the  ivories  and  tapestries  in 
the  music  room — all  represented  a  risk  run,  a 
bargain  driven,  a  train  or  a  meal  missed. 

Katharine  had  visited  many  of  the  places 
he  spoke  of,  and  they  compared  memories  and 
impressions  and  laughed  over  discomforts 
which  had  been  hardships  when  they  were  en- 
dured, but  were  pleasures  in  retrospect. 

From  time  to  time  they  drifted  into  the  or- 
bit of  Mrs.  Ford,  who  would  join  them  for 
some  space,  whimsically  indulgent  of  her 
son's  enthusiasm,  but  courteously  thoughtful 
of  their  guest. 

"  Don't  tire  Miss  Merrill,"  she  warned  him. 
38 


fsle   of  ^Dreams 


"  You've  been  dragging  her  about  for  an  un- 
conscionable time  and  at  an  unconscionable 
pace.  Let  her  come  with  me  to  the  music 
room  now.  Miss  Emerton  and  Jack  are 
there." 

They  were.  There  was  a  stiffness  about 
the  one  and  a  lassitude  about  the  other  which 
gave  Katharine  some  uneasiness.  Had  she, 
she  wondered,  blundered  after  all?  Was  the 
host  destined  to  bask  in  the  high  lights  while 
she  and  the  brother  hovered  in  semidarkness  ? 

She  was  soon  granted  an  opportunity  of 
judging  whether  such  an  arrangement  would 
serve  to  fill  the  hours  agreeably. 

"  Ahoy  and  aho  and,  oh,  who's  for  the  ferry, 
The  brier's  in  bud  and  the  sun's  going  down," 

chanted  Jack  as  he  emerged  from  a  deep  chair 
and  pointed  to  the  reddening  west.  "  Miss 
Merrill,  has  Robert  left  you  any  strength  at 
all?  Are  you  too  tired  to  come  and  look  at 
the  island's  coral  strand  ?  " 

Ensconced  in  the  bow  of  the  canoe  Kath- 
arine set  herself  to  the  question  which  was 
growing  hourly   more  perplexing  and  more 
39 


"Uhe    Ssle   of  'Dreams 


insistent.  The  athletic  young  gentleman  who 
faced  her  from  the  stern  did  not  look  like  the 
hero  of  an  obscure  attachment.  Also  he 
seemed  quite  free  from  yearning  thoughts  of 
the  two  left  in  the  twilight  of  the  big  music 
room.  With  little  apparent  effort  he  drove 
his  craft  through  the  long  shadows  and  pale 
sunlight  close  to  the  shore. 

"  It's  the  jolliest  place  in  the  world,  Miss 
Merrill,"  he  informed  her,  with  a  vigor  of 
which  jealousy  should  have  made  him  in- 
capable. "Just  the  jolliest  place  in  the 
world." 

"  Surely  it  is  very  charming,"  she  acqui- 
esced warmly. 

"  And  Robert  is  the  jolliest  chap  in  the 
world." 

Her  acquiescence  was  less  warm,  and  he 
went  on : 

"  Don't  believe  any  of  the  cynical  things  he 
says.  He  doesn't  mean  a  word  of  'em.  He 
says  shocking  things  about,  for  instance, 
women.  Now,  that's  all  pose.  He  has  lots 
of  friends  among  'em,  and  he's  a  regular  old 
Sir  Galahad  about  'em.  Do  anything,  you 
40 


Ssle   of  breams 


know,  to  serve  'em.  Why,  that  man  is  god- 
father to  as  many  babies  and  Boston  terriers 
as  the  President  is !  " 

"  Some  have  greatness  and  godchildren 
thrust  upon  them,"  quoted  Katharine.  She 
was  beginning  to  enjoy  these  people  and  to 
see  some  reason  for  their  devotion  to  what- 
ever— whether  relative  or  real  estate — chanced 
to  belong  to  them. 

"And  to  hear  him  talk,"  Jack  went  on, 
"you'd  think  he'd  hate  it.  But  he  doesn't. 
He  sends  all  the  babies  a  Christmas  present — 
all  alike — gets  'em  by  the  dozen  every  year — 
and  all  the  mothers  flowers.  He's  so  popular 
that  if  he  didn't  live  out  here  he'd  die  of  dys- 
pepsia in  a  year.  Even  now  the  lunches  are 
awfully  hard  on  him.  Poor  fellow !  " 

Katharine  spent  a  silent  moment  in  con- 
templation of  this  pitiful  condition  and  then: 

"  Miss  Emerton — "  she  began  and  halted. 

"That  puzzles  me,"  Jack  admitted.  "He 
would  invite  her,  and  now  he  wants  me  to 
entertain  her.  And  there  are  limits  to  what  a 
fellow  can  be  expected  to  do  even  for  the 
dearest  old  chap  in  the  world." 
41 


fslo  of  breams 


"  It  was  he,  I  may  remark,  who  invited  me. 
Am  I  also  to  be  inflicted  upon  you  ?  " 

Jack's  manners  were  good.  He  said  what 
the  occasion  demanded,  and  was  still  say- 
ing it  when  they  sauntered  back  to  the 
terrace. 

Katharine  rather  dreaded  the  dressing  hour 
which  would  summon  her  to  a  tete-a-tete  up- 
stairs, for  the  brow  of  Miss  Emerton  boded 
ill.  But  she  was  hardly  prepared  for  the  as- 
perity with  which,  as  soon  as  they  were  in  the 
solitude  of  their  apartments,  she  was  met  with 
the  question: 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  behaving  as  you 
do,  after  promising  as  you  did  ?  " 

A  soft  answer  did  not  in  the  least  turn  away 
wrath. 

"  I'm  doing  as  well  as  I  can,"  Katharine 
explained.  "  You  won't  tell  me  which  of  the 
two  you  prefer,  so  I've  been  trying  to  discover 
which  prefers  you." 

"  And  did  you  ?  " 

"No,"  Katharine  truthfully  admitted,  "I 
did  not.  Why  can't  you  be  sensible  and  tell 
me?" 

42 


Ssle    of  'Dreams 


"  Because  you  know  perfectly  well,"  said 
Gladys. 

There  was  a  connecting  door  between  the 
rooms  assigned  to  them.  She  marched 
through  it  now  and  closed  it  with  a  bang. 

Peace  was  restored  by  a  refractory  fasten- 
ing of  Miss  Emerton's  newest  and  most  be- 
coming gown.  One  can  forgive  much  to  a 
rival  whose  attire  has  seen  its  best  days,  and 
who  is  amiably  assisting  at  one's  toilet ;  doing 
wondrously  with  flattened  tulle  and  distorted 
trimmings.  So  far  did  Gladys  unbend  that 
Katharine  ventured  once  more  upon  the 
question : 

"Which?" 

But  the  Central  Female  Figure  drew  her- 
self stiffly  up  to  her  full  height  of  outraged 
friendship  and  pink  chiffon  and  repeated: 

"  You  know  perfectly  well.  If  you  can't 
keep  away  from  him,  if  you  must  talk  to  him, 
I  wish  you'd  try  to  discover  what  he  thinks 
of  me." 

"  Or  when,"  Katharine  added — mentally. 

"  But  I'd  rather  you'd  leave  him  alone  and 
stay  with  his  brother." 
4  43 


Sste   of  'Dreams 


"Which  brother?"  asked  Katharine,  with 
unabated  interest,  and  could  find  no  answer 
then  nor  at  any  time  during  the  most  uncom- 
fortable evening  which  the  spoiled  and  petted 
Miss  Merrill  had  ever  endured.  The  pleasant, 
lingering  dinner  passed  off  very  well.  Gladys, 
conscious  of  her  frock — and  of  Katharine's 
— sparkled  and  bubbled  and  was  happy.  The 
host  was  courteous,  the  brother  charming,  the 
mother  affable,  the  Background  repressed. 
But,  after  coffee  on  the  terrace,  a  repetition  of 
the  afternoon's  episodes  and  upbraidings 
menaced  the  unfortunate  Background  when 
Mrs.  Ford  retired  to  magazines  and  the  li- 
brary and  Katharine  was  too  tired,  after  the 
unaccustomed  exertions  of  the  afternoon,  to 
do  more  than  cling  to  Gladys  with  a  tenacity 
which  earned  for  her  the  disapprobation  of 
the  general.  Of  Gladys,  who  wished  to  mo- 
nopolize the  brother  of  her  choice,  of  Robert 
who  thought  that  Jack  wished  to  monopolize 
Gladys,  of  Jack  who  was  beginning  to  think 
that  Gladys  wished  to  be  monopolized  by 
Robert. 

So  a  quartet  sat  stiffly  among  the  coffee  cups. 
44 


"Uhe   Sste   of  ^Dreams 


A  quartet  wandered,  uncommunicative,  out 
into  the  moonlit  garden.  A  quartet  paced 
tediously  on  the  wide  sea-wall  where  lawn  met 
shore.  And  a  quartet  parted  so  unregretfully 
in  the  spacious  hall  as  to  give  some  show  of 
reason  for  the  surprise  with  which  the  painted 
ladies  and  gentlemen  on  the  walls  regarded 
them.  But  these  were  old-fashioned  people  of 
the  long  ago  before  the  time  of  electric 
light,  when  "  good  nights  "  were  ceremonious 
affairs  accompanied  by  cordiality  and  candle- 
sticks. 


45 


VERY  early  on  the  next  morning 
Miss  Merrill  was  sitting  with  dan- 
gling feet  upon  the  sea  wall.  The 
weariness  of  the  preceding  night  had  gone, 
and  she  was  blissfully  contemplating  the 
beauty  all  about  her  and  the  happy  hours 
before  her.  For  there  seemed  little  danger 
of  boredom  while  Robert  Ford  was  host.  Yes, 
she  decided,  as  she  thought  of  the  people  in 
the  quiet  house  behind  her,  yes,  she  liked  them. 
If  leisure  meant  many  friends  and  holidays 
like  these,  then  Gladys  was  more  fortunate 
than  it  had  been  Katharine's  habit  to  con- 
sider her.  She  liked  Mrs.  Ford.  Only  to 
look  at  her  was  a  pleasure.  And  her  manner 
was  so  charming  and  so  sincere!  For  Mrs. 
Ford  had  fulfilled  the  more  happy  of  Miss 
Emerton's  predictions,  and  had  "  taken  to " 
46 


"Uhe  fsle  of  'Dreams 


Miss  Merrill.  She  had  graciously  consented 
to  overlook  the  element  of  publicity  in  her 
situation,  and  had  showed  her  portraits  of 
her  two  sons  made  in  their  youth  and  inno- 
cence. 

Miss  Merrill  liked  Jack.  She  liked  the  cheer- 
ful independence  with  which  he  maintained  his 
own  individuality  under  the  handicap  of  an 
older  brother,  his  admiration  for  this  brother, 
the  reverence  in  which  he  held  his  mother, 
and  his  partisanship  of  all  things  relating  to 
his  Alma  Mater.  The  best  crew,  the  best 
teams,  the  best  campus,  and  the  best  fel- 
lows all  belonged  to  the  university  which 
had  made  him  an  excellent  specimen  of 
physical  development  and  a  lawyer  of  ability 
and  promise. 

She  thought  she  liked  the  elder  brother,  she 
told  herself  uneasily.  But  she  did  not  quite 
understand  his  manner.  Considered  as  ab- 
stract manner  it  was  faultless.  He  was  cour- 
teous, thoughtful,  and  cordial.  That  was  it. 
He  was  too  cordial.  He  seemed  to  feel  that 
Katharine  and  he  were  friends  of  long  and 
intimate  acquaintanceship.  And  she,  under 
47 


"Uhe  Ssio  of  ^Dreams 


the  influence  of  his  cordiality  and  sincerity, 
found  herself  allowing  him  to  take  for 
granted  a  comradeship  and  a  unity  of  interest 
which  nothing  had  occurred  to  establish.  The 
accident  of  their  having  visited  the  same  for- 
eign towns  and  countries  did  not  explain  it. 
He  had  been  frankly  in  quest  of  pleasure. 
Her  travels  had  all  had  some  bearing  on  her 
work,  and  he  seemed  no  more  interested  in 
pictures  than  in  a  dozen  other  pursuits.  He 
had  not  mentioned  her  profession,  and  yet 
he  knew  of  it.  His  letter  had  told  her  that. 
If  she  had  found  one  of  her  canvases  in  his 
house  she  might  have  understood  his  attitude, 
for  she  knew  that  there  was  something  of  her- 
self in  everything  she  painted,  and  it  seemed 
reasonable  to  suppose  that,  having  constantly 
before  him  the  expression  of  a  thought  or  a 
mood  of  hers,  he  would  acquire  some  faint  re- 
flection of  her  nature,  and  she  had  always  felt 
that  a  community  of  interest  should  bind  the 
owner  of  a  picture  to  the  author  of  it.  But  on 
her  way  through  the  awakening  house  she  had 
searched  in  vain  for  any  stroke  of  her  brush. 
His  walls  showed  discretion,  taste,  and  well- 
48 


Zf/tff  fsle  of  'Dreams 


used  opportunity,  but  no  trace  of  Katharine 
Merrill. 

Was  this  bearing  habitual  to  him,  she 
wondered.  She  must  watch  him  with  Gladys 
and  with  such  other  strangers  as  might  be  ex- 
pected. She  was  hoping  that  these  strangers 
would  not  be  too  numerous  as  her  host  came 
gently  up  and  dropped  at  her  side. 

"  I  saw  you  from  my  window,"  said  he, 
"  and  as  there  is  something  I  very  much 
wanted  to  say  to  you,  I  hurried  out.  Isn't  it 
a  perfect  morning?  And  how  jolly  it  was  of 
you  to  wear  those  yachting  things !  " 

"  So  you  came  out  to  discuss  clothes  and 
the  weather  ?  And  before  breakfast !  " 

"  No.  There  is  really  something  I  want  to 
tell  you.  Something  more  than  that  you  bear 
the  clear  light  of  day  rather  triumphantly,  and 
that  we're  going  for  a  sail  after  breakfast." 

"  Not  really.  I  am  glad.  There  is  nothing 
I  love  as  I  do  sailing.  No  place  where  I  am 
happier  than  on  the  sea." 

"  Then  you  shall  be  skipper.  I  shall  be  your 
mate — nautical  interpretation  always  under- 
stood— and  we'll  take  Captain  Jameson  for 
49 


"Uho  Ssle  of  ^Dreams 


the  entertainment  and  propitiation  of  Mrs. 
Grundy.  I'll  show  you  places  as  beautiful  as 
Katharine  Merrill's  pictures.  By  the  way,  I 
don't  in  the  least  believe  that  you  are  Kath- 
arine Merrill.  She  is  a  personage.  You 


"A  person?"  she  suggested.  "And  you 
got  up  at  this  goodly  but  ungodly  hour  to 
accuse  me  of  obtaining  board  and  lodging — 
and  great  pleasure — under  false  pretenses." 

"  You  are,  perhaps,  the  Katharine  Merrill 
of  reality,"  he  admitted,  "  but  not  the  Kath- 
arine Merrill  of  my  dreams.  She  was  a  gen- 
ius who  looked  like  a  genius.  Could  your 
most  ardent  admirer  describe  you  thus  ?  " 

"  He  had  better  not  try,"  said  Miss  Merrill 
darkly. 

"  I  won't,"  said  this  calm  young  man,  and 
Katharine  was  dismayed  to  find  that  she  was 
blushing. 

"But  what  came  you  out  to  say?"  she 
asked  in  hasty  change  of  subject,  and  then 
wondered  whether  she  had  been  more  hasty 
than  wise.  There  was  a  deliberateness  about 
him  which  rather  alarmed  her. 
50 


Ssle   of  breams 


"  I  came  out,"  said  he,  "  to  talk  about  Miss 
Emerton.  How  well  do  you  know  her  ?" 

And  Katharine  was  reassured.  She  tried  to 
persuade  herself  that  she  was  also  relieved. 
Here  was  the  explanation  of  the  confidential 
attitude  which  had  puzzled  her.  What  more 
natural  than  that  he  should  feel  an  interest  in 
one  as  near  the  rose  as  she  ?  He  had  not  been 
sure  of  her  sympathy  yesterday,  but  now  he 
had  come — as  dozens  of  other  men  and  women 
had  come — to  disclose  his  true  state  of  heart. 
She  was  preparing  as  sincere  a  panegyric  of 
Miss  Emerton  as  she  could  evolve  upon  such 
sudden  notice  when  he  repeated  his  question. 

"  As  well,"  she  answered,  "  as  one  may 
know  another  when  one  is  rather  busy  and 
sees  the  other  rather  seldom.  I've  known  her 
for  a  long  time,  and  I  like  her  immensely, 
though  she  sometimes  disapproves  of  me.  But 
I  could  tell  you  of  ever  so  many  brave  and 
kind  things  she's  done " 

"  Presently,  presently,"  he  interrupted.  "  I 
came  out  here  to  tell  you  of  something  she  has 
done  which  you  don't  seem  to  have  discov- 
ered. She  has  fallen  in  love  with  my  brother. 


Vhe  fsle   of  ftreams 


Of  course  it's  his  own  fault,  but  there  it  is," 
and  he  turned  a  ruefully  amused  face  to  her, 
seeming  to  expect  that  she,  too,  would  be 
amused.  But  affairs  of  the  heart — of  other's 
hearts — were  always  rather  serious  to  Kath- 
arine. Her  own  admirers  she  treated  with 
a  gay  unconcern,  but  to  the  loves  and  trials 
of  her  friends  she  brought  a  very  unsophis- 
ticated tenderness  and  reverence.  She  was 
not  sufficiently  du  monde  to  laugh  at  senti- 
ment, and  the  contemplation  of  the  Drum- 
monds'  never-ending  courtship  made  her 
ready  to  believe  that  love  had,  after  all,  a  great 
deal  to  do  with  making  the  world  go  round. 

"  I'm  very  glad,"  she  replied,  quite  seri- 
ously, and  she  resumed  her  panegyric  with  a 
new  vigor.  "  A  little  softening  is  really  the 
only  improvement  she  required,  and  of  course 
that  will  come  now." 

But  Ford  had  seen  the  throning  and  de- 
throning of  too  many  divinities  in  his  broth- 
er's regard  to  accept  one  as  definitive.  He 
tried  to  convey  something  of  this  to  his 
companion. 

"  I  was  discussing  only  her  emotional  state," 
52 


fsle  of  ftroams 


he  suggested.  "Jack's  is  another  matter." 
And  Katharine,  remembering  her  talk  with 
Jack  on  the  preceding  evening,  sorrowfully 
agreed  with  him.  "Of  course,"  the  elder 
brother  went  on,  "  I  asked  her  out  here  on  his 
account  and  because  I  hoped  to  reach  you 
through  her.  For  some  time  I  have  had  my 
mind  made  up  to  meet  you.  But  to  go  back 
to  Jack.  The  dear  old  chap  can't  help  it,  you 
understand,  but  he  has  an  atrocious  habit  of 
flitting  like  the  bee  from  flower  to  flower. 
And  no  one  is  more  surprised  and  concerned 
than  he  when  he  finds  that  the  charmer  of  last 
month  has  turned  into  the  bore  of  this." 

"  But  Gladys — "  Katharine  was  beginning, 
when  he  broke  in : 

"  May  be  all  that  you  say,  though  to  me  she 
seems  a  bit  intense.  But  perhaps  her  very  in- 
tensity is  the  force  requisite  to  overcome  this 
single  fault  of  Jack's.  Mutual  improvement, 
you  will  observe,  since  you  expect  him  to 
benefit  her.  And  how  could  we  better  fur- 
ther these  hopes  of  ours  than  by  removing  all 
distracting  elements  from  their  way  ?  It  might 
be  well,"  with  happy  inspiration,  "to  ask  for 
53 


Ssie  of  ^Dreams 


a  luncheon  basket,  and  to  stay  away  all  day. 
For  you  must,  in  the  sacred  cause  of  love  and 
friendship,  make  up  your  mind  to  one  thing: 
it  will  be  your  duty  to  spend  all  the  spare 
hours  of  your  visit  in  my  society.  If  it  were 
later  in  the  season  we  might  persuade  my 
mother  to  accompany  us,  but  she  hates  to  go 
on  the  water  in  anything  smaller  than  that 
brute  of  a  steam  yacht,  and  in  any  colder 
months  than  July  and  August.  So  for  to-day 
you  must  allow  Captain  Jameson  to  under- 
study her." 

"  You  are  sure,"  Katharine  temporized, 
"that  Gladys  won't  think  it  strange,  won't 
object  to  being  deserted  by  both  host  and 
friend  ?  " 

"  May  I  remind  you,  at  the  risk  of  exhibit- 
ing pride  of  race  and  family,  that  she  has 
Jack?" 

"  Yes,  she  has  Jack." 

"  And  may  I  assure  you,  at  the  risk  of  re- 
peating my  true  but  artless  words,  that  she  and 
Jack  are  sufficient  unto  each  other?  They  are 
old  friends;  calls,  flowers,  letters,  opera,  and 
that  sort  of  thing.  I'm  off  now  to  interview 
54 


'Uhe  <fsle  of  breams 


Captain  Jameson.  The  Katrinka  must  be  espe- 
cially shipshape  when  the  new  captain  takes 
the  wheel.  You'll  bring  your  painting  things, 
of  course." 

"  Alas !  and  woe  is  me !  I  have  none.  Not 
so  much  as  a  pencil." 

"  I  might  be  able  to  manage  a  pencil,"  he 
reassured  her.  "  And  now  my  duty  to  you, 
sir,"  and  he  jerked  his  heel  and  an  imaginary 
forelock  in  a  comic-opera  salute.  "  I'll  be 
back  in  a  brace  of  shakes." 

She  was  watching  the  gay  assumption  of  a 
nautical  roll  in  his  retreating  figure,  when 
Jack  Ford  came  gently  up.  Katharine  noticed 
that  he,  like  his  brother,  was  in  irreproach- 
able yachting  costume.  The  Island  seemed  in 
danger  of  being  depopulated  on  that  pleasant 
day  in  May. 

"  I  thought  he'd  never  go  away,"  Jack  be- 
gan confidentially,  when  the  proper  greetings 
had  been  exchanged.  "  There  is  something  I 
very  much  wanted  to  say  to  you,  so  I  hurried 
out  when  I  saw  you  on  the  wall." 

"  Where  I  don't  intend  to  stay,"  she  supple- 
mented. "  I'm  going  to  build  castles  in  that 
55 


TJhe  fslo   of  2>reatns 


sand  down  there,"  and  she  indicated  the  nar- 
row strip  just  below  them  not  yet  covered  by 
the  tide.  "  I  haven't  built  castles  in  the  sand 
since  I  was  quite  a  little  girl." 

As  he  helped  her  down  the  rough  face  of 
the  wall,  Jack  reflected  that  she  did  not  look 
very  mature  even  now,  in  her  blue  skirt  and 
blouse  with  a  dark  collar  emphasizing  the 
whiteness  of  her  neck  and  a  breastknot  re- 
flecting the  brightness  of  her  cheeks  and  lips. 
But  he  refrained  from  expressing  this  opinion, 
and  only  remarked: 

"  I'm  ever  so  glad  you  put  on  your  yacht- 
ing things.  We're  going  for  a  sail  after 
breakfast." 

"Are  you?"  she  asked  abstractedly.  She 
had  found  a  suitable  piece  of  driftwood  and 
was  laying  out  an  elaborate  floor  plan.  Then, 
still  idly,  she  added :  "  So  are  we." 

"  We  ?  "  he  echoed.    "  Who  ?  " 

"  Your  brother,  Captain  Jameson,  and  I." 

"  Now  that's  really  too  bad  of  Bobbie,"  said 

this  virtuous  young  man.     "  Don't  you  think 

he  ought  to  consult  us  all  before  he  makes  a 

plan  which  will  separate  us?    What  will  Miss 

56 


Ssle   of  breams 


Emerton  say?  And,  by  the  way,  that  brings 
me  to  what  I  came  out  to  talk  about.  How 
well  do  you  know  Miss  Emerton?" 

Katharine  straightened  from  her  task  and 
looked  at  him  closely.  This  was  no  trick  of 
new  sunlight.  He  was  certainly  the  brother, 
not  the  host.  His  fairer  hair  and  his  greater 
breadth  differentiated  him.  But  here  was  the 
question  she  had  already  answered.  As  she 
stared,  he  repeated  it. 

"  Just  how  well,  Miss  Merrill,  do  you  know 
Miss  Emerton  ?  " 

"  As  well,"  said  Katharine,  in  dazed  repeti- 
tion, "  as  well  as  one  may  know  a  friend  whom 
one  has  known  for  a  long  time  but  never  very 
intimately.  Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Because  I  think  I  can  tell  you  something 
you  don't  know  about  her.  Did  you  know 
that  she's  in  love  with  my  brother?" 

"  That's  impossible,"  cried  Katharine  sharp- 
ly. "  It's  impossible,  I  tell  you." 

"And  I'll  tell  him  you  said  so,"  grinned 
Jack.  "  It  will  do  him  good  to  hear  a  frank 
opinion  of  himself." 

The  tide  crept  into  the  courtyard  of  Kath- 
57 


"Uhe  fslo  of  'Dreams 


arine's  castle  and  began  to  undermine  its 
foundations,  but  she  only  watched  it  dully, 
with  the  piece  of  driftwood  idle  in  her 
hand. 

"  Are  you  sure  ? "  she  asked  when  the 
last  wall  had  fallen.  "  Are  you  quite,  quite 
sure  ?  " 

"  She  as  good  as  said  so,"  he  assured  her, 
"  yesterday  afternoon.  Don't  pretend  you're 
surprised.  Weren't  you  prepared  for  some- 
thing of  the  kind  when  she  accepted  Bobbie's 
invitation?  He  showed  it  to  me,  and  I  just 
leave  it  to  you  now.  Did  it  sound  like  the 
sort  of  thing  she'd  care  for?  Does  she  look 
like  the  sort  of  girl  who  would  leave  town  and 
her  dressmaker  to  see  an  apple  tree  in  blos- 
som? I  said  so  to  him  then.  But  he  only 
laughed  and  said  he  knew  more  than  I  did 
about  what  he  was  appealing  to.  Now  if 
you've  known  her  as  long  as  you  say,  you 
know  better  than  that.  She  never  came  here 
to  look  at  the  scenery.  Not  much." 

"  The  Island  has  more  attractions  than  your 
brother  and  the  orchards,"  Katharine  rallied 
to  remind  him.    "  You  are  too  modest." 
58 


"Uhe  Sale  of  ^Dreams 


"Oh,  as  for  me!"  he  exclaimed  ruefully, 
and  rumpled  his  yellow  hair.  "  She's  tired  of 
me.  She  and  I  met  one  another  a  lot  last 
winter,  and  we  used  to  pull  rather  well  to- 
gether at  first.  But  I  bore  her  now.  She's 
after  Bob.  Girls  always  give  me  up  when 
they  meet  Bob.  They  all  get  tired  of  me  in  a 
couple  of  months.  So,  if  you  have  any  heart 
or  sympathy  under  that  very  correct  whistle 
lanyard,  you'll  come  out  to  sail  with  me. 
They  don't  want  us  around,  you  know.  Now 
do  they  ?  " 

And  suddenly  Katharine  began  to  laugh,  as 
the  completeness  of  this  proof  of  Robert's  in- 
sight into  the  nature  of  his  brother  grew  clear. 
She  threw  her  improvised  shovel  at  an  incom- 
ing whitecap,  and  set  her  foot  on  the  ruins 
of  the  house  of  sand.  And  still  she  laughed 
in  a  queer  relieved  manner  which  left  her  com- 
panion quite  unamused.  She  climbed  back 
to  her  place  upon  the  wall  and  dangled  her 
feet  again.  But  she  ceased  from  laughing 
when  she  remembered  that  Gladys  was  prob- 
ably at  that  moment  lost  in  the  details  of  the 
Nassau  frock,  and  might  be  expected  at  almost 
5  59 


Vho   Ssle   of  'Dreams 


any  time  to  see  and  misunderstand  the  tableau 
on  the  wall. 

"  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  she  re- 
plied to  Jack's  invitation.  "  Your  brother 
fortunately  warned  me  that  the  only  flaw  in 
your  nature  is  inconstancy.  You  don't  appre- 
ciate Gladys.  You  don't  deserve  this  oppor- 
tunity of  getting  to  know  her  well." 

"  You're  right,"  he  agreed.  "  I  don't. 
You  oughtn't  to  let  me  have  it.  I  feel  that 
I'm  not  worthy  to  spend  a  whole  day  in  the 
clear  air  she  lives  in.  But  Bob !  Now  Bob's 
just  the  sort  of  man  to  thrive  on  it." 

"  He  is  coming,"  remarked  Katharine. 
"  You  can  tell  him  so." 

"All  right  aboard,  sir,"  reported  the  mate 
with  a  repetition  of  his  wonderful  salute. 
"The  crew's  below  and  sober,  sir — or  very 
nearly." 

"  Bob,"  remonstrated  Jack,  "  what  will  Miss 
Emerton  think  of  our  manners?  You  can't 
seriously  mean  to  deprive  her — to  deprive  us 
— of  Miss  Merrill's  society  for  a  whole  day !  " 

"Oh,  thank  you!"  said  Katharine  de- 
murely. 

60 


T>he  Sslo  of  breams 


"Gammon,"  remarked  his  brother,  "pure 
gammon.  We  shall  start  immediately  after 
breakfast — the  which,  I  judge  from  the  agi- 
tation of  Bertha  in  the  middle  distance,  is 
even  now  ready." 


61 


VI 


^OBERT  FORD  combined  a  blandly 
cheerful  manner  with  a  knack  of 
doing  precisely  as  he  pleased  ex- 
actly when  he  wished,  and  the  officers  of  the 
good  ship  Katrinka  were  off  on  the  tossing 
sea  before  the  others  of  the  house  party  had 
reached  a  second  cup  of  coffee. 

It  was  a  heavenly  morning  and  a  glorious 
one.  And  long  before  it  was  time  to  do  jus- 
tice to  Bertha's  inexhaustible  basket,  Miss 
Merrill  and  Mr.  Ford  had  traveled  farther 
upon  the  way  of  friendship  than  they  might 
have  done  in  months  of  drawing-room  inter- 
course. 

Ford  had   learned   how   Miss   Merrill  had 

been,  for  as  long  as  her  memory  served,  the 

very  perplexing  ward  of  two  maiden  aunts, 

who  had  promptly  made  use  of  her  art  aspira- 

62 


fste  of  Breams 


tions  as  an  excuse  for  surrendering  a  respon- 
sibility which  had  always  been  irksome  to 
them  and  which  threatened  to  destroy  every 
custom  and  tenet  of  their  very  customary  and 
tenacious  lives. 

"  And  now,"  continued  Katharine,  "  I  am 
that  most  pathetic  spectacle — a  female  orphan 
of  tender  years  cast  off  by  her  heartless,  art- 
less relations,  and  having  a  glorious  time." 

"  Still,  you  know,"  Ford  was  beginning, 
when  she  interrupted: 

"  I've  adopted  a  family  all  of  my  own. 
They  share  my  old  house  with  me.  They  are 
devoted  to  one  another,  have  two  delicious 
babies,  and  are  wonderfully  good  to  me. 
Then  there  is  Denis,  my  maid — she  used  to 
be  my  nurse " 

"  Oh,"  said  Ford,  "  I  wondered  who  Denis 
was." 

"And  hundreds  upon  hundreds  of  other 
friends,  nearer  or  farther " 

"  Will  you  put  my  name  on  the   waiting 
list?"  he  interjected.    "Am  I  eligible?"    But 
Katharine  received  this  with  a  merest  glance 
of  bright  eyes,  and  went  serenely  on : 
63 


Sale  of  'Dreams 


"  Who  are  good  to  me  and  spoil  me,  and 
take  me  to  their  country  places  in  the  summer, 
or  come  to  stay  with  me  in  the  winter.  Now 
it's  your  turn  to  autobiographize.  Begin !  " 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir,"  answered  Ford.  "  But  my 
story,  as  the  mate  always  says  when  the  men 
gather  in  the  foc'sle  to  smoke  their  long 
pipes  through  the  dog  watches,  'my  story 
passes  belief.'  I  grew  up,  went  to  school, 
broke  several  bones  for  the  glory  of  my  col- 
lege, traveled,  came  home,  inherited  my 
father's  responsibilities,  worked  a  little,  trav- 
eled again,  bought  the  Island,  built  the  house 
and  waited — for  yesterday  afternoon." 

"  I'm  glad,"  laughed  Katharine,  "  that  you 
granted  the  incredibility  of  your  tale.  I  hate 
to  choose  between  seeming  rude  or  idiotic. 
And  I'm  not  like  the  immortal  White  Queen 
who  used  to  believe  as  many  as  ten  impossible 
things  before  breakfast." 

"  Try  again,"  the  mate  urged,  "  the  pre- 
scription ran.  Shut  your  eyes  and  take  a 
long  breath.  Now,  do  you  believe  me  when 
I  repeat :  '  and  waited  for  yesterday  after- 
noon '  ?  " 

64 


"Uhe  Jsle  of  7)reams 


"  I'm  sorry,"  said  the  captain,  opening  a 
pair  of  eyes  which  did  not  look  so.  "  Dread- 
fully sorry,  but  I  seem  to  be  like  Alice :  I  can't 
believe  impossible  things." 

"  I'll  try  again  to-morrow  before  break- 
fast," said  the  mate.  "  And  on  the  sea  wall 
if  you  will  be  so  kind." 

"  Perhaps,"  she  replied. 

It  was  midafternoon  when  the  mate  turned 
to  the  captain. 

"  Go  forward,  if  you  please,  sir,"  said  he, 
"  and  keep  a  sharp  lookout  ahead.  When  we 
make  that  next  point  you'll  see  the  place 
which  reminds  me  always  of  your  '  Isle  of 
Dreams.' " 

"  Do  you  remember  that  ?  "  cried  Katharine 
wonderingly. 

"  Yes,  I  remember  it.    And  now,  watch !  " 

The  Katrinka  rounded  a  little  neck  of  land 
and  glided  into  a  harbor  of  Fairyland. 

"  Oh ! "  cried  Katharine,  and  steadied  her- 
self with  an  arm  about  the  mast.  "  Oh,  won- 
derful !  Oh,  beautiful !  " 

"  Dreamland,"  supplemented  Ford.  "  The 
Isle  of  Dreams." 

65 


e   Ssle   of  Breams 


"  Oh !  "  cried  Katharine  again.  "  I'd  give 
my  soul  for  my  painting  kit.  Mr.  Ford,  did 
you  remember  the  pencil  ?  " 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir,"  answered  Ford,  with  an- 
other excerpt  from  the  sailor's  hornpipe  (he 
had  been  executing  it  piecemeal  all  day,  to  the 
surprise  of  Captain  Jameson  and  the  uneasi- 
ness of  his  guest,  who  expected  him  to  disap- 
pear over  the  rail  at  almost  any  moment). 
"  Pencils  in  the  fo'c's'le,  sir.  Better  go  below 
and  choose  one." 

Katharine  craned  her  sunny  head  through 
the  hatch,  and  then  scrambled  down  with  little 
quick  cries  of  pleasure.  "  It's  all  a  dream," 
she  protested.  "Where  did  you  get  them? 
How  did  you  manage  it  ?  " 

"  They  belong  to  a  dabbling  friend  of  mine. 
His  pictures  are  shocking,  but  his  kit  seemed 
decent  enough.  I  feared  you  might  leave 
your  own  things  at  home ;  so  I  borrowed  these 
as  soon  as  you  allowed  us  to  expect  you. 
You'll  paint  me  a  little  picture,  will  you  not?" 

"  But  surely — may  we  anchor  ?  " 

"  You  are  captain.  You  need  only  say : '  I'm 
going  to  toss  off  a  masterpiece !  Lower  away 
66 


*<?  fsle   of  ^Dreams 


the  anchor,  box  the  mainmast,  and  make  the 
scuppers  tight." 

"  Will  you,  please  ?  "  pleaded  the  captain  of 
Captain  Jameson. 

"  Lowered  it  is,  sir." 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Ford,  if  this  should  chance 
to  be  a  masterpiece,  you  may  keep  it  until  I  am 
great — being  dead — and  then  sell  it  for  much 
gold." 

"  When  it  is  sold  I  shall  have  all  the  gold  I 
care  for  in  my  crown  and  in  my  harp,"  said 
he.  "  What  shall  we  call  it — this  other  '  Isle 
of  Dreams '  ?  " 

"  You're  fond  of  that  picture.  Was  it,  per- 
haps, the  only  one  of  mine  you  chanced  to 
see?" 

"  No.    I've  seen  others." 

"  But  you  liked  that  best?" 

He  nodded. 

"  Clever  person.  So  do  I.  It  was  the  first 
I  ever  sold,  and  I  can  keep  myself  from  vanity 
at  any  time  by  remembering  that  I  never  again 
did  anything  so  good." 

"  Wholesome  reflection.  Wrong,  no  doubt, 
but  wholesome." 

67 


Ssle  of  Breams 


"  I  miss  it  to  this  day,"  she  went  on  ab- 
stractedly. "  Some  of  its  touches  and  details 
elude  me  now.  I  can't  quite  remember  whether 
the  seagulls  are  two  or  three.  I  can't  quite  re- 
member the  shade  of  violet  in  the  face  of  the 
little  cliff.  I've  not  seen  it  for  five  years. 
I  don't  even  know  where  it  is.  I  haven't  a 
single  finished  thing  of  my  own  in  the  house. 
That  is  what  one  pays  for  what  the  world 
calls  genius,  and  what  one  knows  to  be  colos- 
sal luck.  For  if  one  kept  all  one's  pictures 
in  one  basket,  how  could  one  be  a  celebrity? 
They  must  go  out  into  the  world  so  that  one's 
name  may  be  great  in  the  land — and  on 
cheques.  When  I  get  too  humble  about  that 
other  thought  I  spoke  of,  I  cheer  myself 
again  by  thinking  of  all  the  rooms  which  are 
just  a  bit  prettier  because  of  me  and  of  all 
the  people  who  are  grateful  to  Katharine  Mer- 
rill when  she  reminds  them  of  places  they  have 
loved." 

"And  what  does  a  celebrity  do  with  the 
price  of  her  own  bare  walls  ?  " 

Katharine  watched  a  seagull  out  of  sight 
before  she  answered: 

68 


fsle  of  ^Dreams 


"  All  sorts  of  things,"  and  then  stopped. 

"  Go  on,"  he  urged.  "  What  sorts  of  things. 
I  have  a  reason  for  asking." 

"  Well,"  said  she,  and  nearly  lost  the  dab- 
bling friend's  palette  over  the  side  as  the  Ka- 
trinka  rocked  with  the  land  swell,  "  if  you  will 
condescend  to  consider  me  as  a  type  of  the 
genius  I  could  tell  you.  Sometimes  she  does 
extravagant  things,  sometimes  foolish.  Some- 
times she  buys  old  furniture  and  new  books. 
Then  she  tries  to  buy  immunity  from  the  hard 
times  which,  nevertheless,  she  always  expects. 
In  one  of  those  moods  she  undertook  the  main- 
tenance of  a  cot  in  a  babies'  hospital.  And 
again  she  buys  things  like  this  yachting  affair 
of  which  you  and  Captain  Jameson  so  kindly 
approve." 

"  Not  really.    You're  joking." 

"Yes,  really.  With  the  very  first  money 
I  earned  I  fitted  out  The  Genius  as  you  see 
her.  She  has  oilskins,  too,  and  a  sou'wester." 

"You  buy  clothes?  I  never  thought  of 
that." 

"  In  the  present  artificial  condition  of  so- 
ciety," she  reminded  him,  "  it  has  come  to  be 
69 


Ssle   of  breams 


expected  of  one.  And  an  admiring  Public  is 
a  pleasant — even  generous — provider.  You 
should  see  the  dream  of  a  dinner  dress  which 
is  the  latest  form  taken  by  my  '  Study  in  Gen- 
tle Greens.'  That  white  lace  affair  I  wore  last 
night  began  as  '  Moonlight  on  Still  Waters.' 
All  my  things,  all  my  pretties,  are  furnished 
by  a  doting  populace." 

"  A  clever  and  discerning  populace." 

"  No.  I'm  sorry  to  contradict,  but  doting 
is  the  proper  word.  Of  course  I  love  my  Pub- 
lic dearly,  but  not  all  its  kindness,  not  all  its 
praise,  can  hide  from  my  loving  eyes  the  mel- 
ancholy fact  that  the  poor  old  dear  is  as  mad 
as  any  hatter." 

"What?"  he  cried,  and  fell  limply  back 
upon  Captain  Jameson,  who  was  watching 
with  superstitious  awe  the  translation  of  the 
scene  before  him  into  terms  of  paint  and 
paper. 

"As  mad,"  she  serenely  continued,  intent 
upon  her  work  and  calmly  oblivious  to  the 
effect  of  her  last  remark,  "  as  the  proverbial 
March  hare.  How  otherwise  can  you  ex- 
plain its  habits?  I  spread  some  paint  more 
70 


fslo  of  Vreams 


or  less  evenly  over  a  larger  or  smaller  sur- 
face, and  that  Public  rises  up  to  call  me  tal- 
ented, and  to  give  me  largely  of  its  riches. 
Of  course  it  is  mad." 

"  Once  upon  a  time  when  the  world  was 
young,"  Robert  Ford  began,  with  the  detached 
air  of  one  whose  love  was  loved  in  those  hal- 
cyon days,  "there  was  a  virtue  known  as 
Gratitude.  It  was  very  beautiful,  but  like 
many  beautiful  things,  like  white  flowers  and 
clouds  and  women,  it  was  very  fragile,  too, 
and  very  sensitive.  So  that  when  the  world 
grew  old,  busy,  and  hard,  Gratitude  faded  like 
the  woman,  drooped  like  the  flower,  wept 
itself  away  like  the  cloud." 

Katharine  laid  down  her  brushes  and  turned 
to  him.  All  the  mockery  and  insouciance  had 
left  her. 

"Once  upon  a  time  when  a  woman  was 
young — very  young,"  she  began,  "  the  world, 
which  is  neither  old  nor  hard  nor  always  busy, 
gave  her  a  gift.  She  had  never  hoped  for  it. 
But  she  had  tried  for  it.  She  had  persistently 
tried  for  it — living  her  life,  seeing  the  beauties 
of  the  maligned  world  and  trying  to  show 
71 


breams 


them  to  others.  For  she  loved  the  world. 
And  the  world  was  grateful  to  the  woman — 
for  Gratitude  is  not  dead — and  gave  the  wom- 
an fame." 

"  By  George !  "  said  Ford.  "  By  George ! 
you  make  a  man  ashamed  of  being  an  unbe- 
liever. You  seem  to  have  found  some  of  the 
lost  virtue.  But  you  are  always  finding 
beauty.  And  now  go  on.  Did  the  woman 
enjoy  the  gift  of  the  world  ?  " 

"  No ;  she  was  too  anxious.  It  was  such  a 
baby  fame  that  the  woman  carried  always  in 
her  heart  a  great  fear  lest  he  should  die.  But 
he  lived.  He  was  not  a  wonderful  baby,  but 
he  was  the  woman's  very  own,  and  she  loved 
him.  Now  he  is  nearly  five  years  old,  and 
she  is  more  than  ever  anxious.  For  a  boy  of 
five  can't  be  held  always  in  a  woman's  arms. 
He  must  run  about  and  play.  What  if  he 
should  run  away  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  him,"  Robert  Ford  protested. 
"  He  isn't  blind  nor  deaf  nor  an  idiot.  I'll 
wager  he's  a  sturdy  little  fellow — sturdy  of 
heart  and  legs — whom  no  designing  stranger, 
armed  with  a  bag  of  candy  and  a  rubber  dog, 
72 


fsle   of  *Dreams 


could  lure  from  his  own  gate  and  his  own 
mother." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Katharine  huskily ; 
"  you  really  seem  to  understand,"  which  was 
more  than  could  be  said  for  Captain  Jameson. 
Never  was  an  old  salt  more  helplessly  at  sea. 
His  single  and  feeble  attempt  at  adjustment 
was  to  substitute  a  bewildered  "ma'am"  for 
the  "miss"  which  had  adorned  his  previous 
remarks.  He  was  puzzled — densely  puzzled. 


73 


VII 


the  good  ship  Katrinka,  Kath- 
arine   Merrill   master,    sailed   home 
out  of  the  golden  sunset,  Mrs.  Ford 
and  Jack  were  waiting  on  the  little  pier. 

"  Miss  Emerton  had  a  headache,"  Jack  re- 
ported, without  much  enthusiasm.  "  I've  seen 
nothing  of  her  since  luncheon  time." 

"  I'll  go  to  her  at  once,"  said  the  conscience- 
stricken  Katharine.  "  I  should  never  have 
left  her,  I  suppose." 

"  She  was  better  alone,"  Mrs.  Ford  said  re- 
assuringly. "  I  sat  with  her  for  an  hour,  but 
she  hardly  spoke." 

Gladys  Emerton  with  the  willowy  length, 
the  discontented  expression,  the  celery  curls, 
and  the  flowery  bedquilt,  was  lying  in  the 
deep  bay  of  the  window  when  Katharine  en- 
tered timidly  and  took  her  hand.  She  took  it, 
but  she  did  not  keep  it  long. 
74 


fsle  of  breams 


"Go  away,"  commanded  the  sufferer. 

"  What  happened  ?  Have  you  two  quar- 
reled? Was  he  less  charming  than  you 
thought?  They  so  often  are." 

"You  know  best.  Was  he  charming? 
You've  been  with  him  for  the  last  eight  hours. 
I  wish  you'd  go  away." 

"  Robert !  "  Katharine  gasped.     "  Robert !  " 

"You  progress  rapidly,"  sneered  Gladys. 
"What  does  he  call  you— Kittie?" 

"  Get  up  and  behave  like  a  sensible  woman," 
cried  Katharine  indignantly.  "If  you  had 
done  it  sooner,  nothing  of  this  would  have 
happened.  Don't  you  see  how  you've  bungled 
everything?  Get  up  and  dress  in  your  very 
best,  and  prepare  for  an  endless  tete-a-tete 
with  Robert.  I'll  take  Jack.  I  could  quite  as 
well  have  taken  him  to  sail  if  you  had  been 
rational.  He,  too,  asked  me." 

"Oh,  did  he,  indeed?"  asked  Gladys,  but 
the  tidings  did  not  seem  to  soothe. 

Now  a  maid  may  determine  to  engage  all 

the  attention  and  the  leisure  of  a  younger 

brother,  but  if  the  younger  brother  will  have 

none  of  her — having  mutely  set  her  down  as 

6  75 


"Uhe  Ssle   of  %)reams 


an  unconscionable  flirt — the  charming  is  like 
to  fail.  She  may  also  resolve  to  slight,  snub, 
and  otherwise  antagonize  a  host,  but  if  the 
host  will  meet  rebuffs  with  a  debonair  un- 
concern, her  lack  of  manner  is  likely  to  fall 
flatly  short  of  its  purpose.  Katharine  could 
do  nothing  to  redistribute  this  exceedingly 
"  mixed  foursome,"  and  found  herself  toward 
the  end  of  the  evening  supinely  submitting 
to  detachment  from  her  duty. 

"  Miss  Merrill,"  began  Robert  Ford,  "  do 
you  remember  our  discussion  upon  insanity 
to-day?  If  you  will  come  with  me,  I  shall 
show  you  the  thing  about  which  I  am  madder 
than  a  hatter,  as  mad  as  the  proverbial  March 
hare.  Would  you  care  to  see  it  ?  " 

"  How  perfectly  lovely !  "  cried  Gladys,  who 
had  been  included  in  neither  invitation  nor 
glance  nor  yet  pronoun.  "  I  had  no  idea " 

"Then  I  fear  that  it  would  alarm  you," 
countered  Robert  with  the  most  caressing  of 
smiles.  "  You  observe  that  I  have  prepared 
Miss  Merrill  for  the  disclosure.  Perhaps  to- 
morrow you  will  allow  me  to  explain  it  to  you. 
In  the  meantime  may  I  suggest  that  the  grass 
76 


fsle   of  breams 


is  dry  and  the  orchard,  in  full  blossom,  at 
your  service,  as  well  as  Jack  in  the  extreme 
of  restlessness?  Miss  Merrill,  will  you 
honor  me  ?  " 

And  what  could  Katharine  do?  As  she 
turned  at  the  door  to  bend  a  propitiatory 
glance  upon  the  Central  Female  Figure,  she 
noted  that  two  neglected  parts  of  her  role  were 
being  enacted  for  her — Gladys  was  glowering 
and  Jack  frankly  sulky. 

"If  that's  affectation,"  said  Robert,  "they 
are  fools.  If  it's  not,  then  the  sooner  they 
come  to  their  senses  the  better.  Shouldn't 
you  think  that  moonlight  through  apple  blos- 
soms would  straighten  them  out  ?  " 

"Yes,  if  anything  could,"  faltered  Kath- 
arine. 

At  the  end  of  the  hall  the  host  unlocked  a 
door  and  ushered  Katharine  into  a  room 
lighted  only  by  a  fire  of  driftwood  in  the  wide 
fireplace.  He  led  her  to  the  hearth,  and  as 
he  kicked  the  logs  into  a  brighter  glow,  Kath- 
arine caught  here  and  there  the  outline  of  a 
picture  frame  against  the  dull  green  wall. 

"  This  room  has  been  my  hobby  for  the  last 
77 


fsle   of  'Dreams 


two  or  three  years,"  he  told  her.  "  The  pic- 
tures are  all  the  work  of  an  artist  of  whom, 
before  then,  I  had  never  heard." 

"  A  modern?  " 

"  Very  modern.  To  me  they  are  exquisite. 
I  loved  them,  everyone  of  them,  at  first  sight, 
and  I  find  new  beauties  in  them  from  day  to 
day.  In  this  a  picture  differs  from  a  woman. 
A  picture  grows  without  changing.  A  woman 
changes  without  growing.  A  woman,  in  my 
experience ' 

"  The  woman  in  your  experience  ?  " 

"  Is  yet  to  be  experienced.  But,  as  I  was 
telling  you,  I  bought  this  artist's  pictures 
whenever  I  could  find  them,  and  made  this 
room  into  a  miniature  gallery,  with  hangings 
and  lights  so  that  I  can  illuminate  the  frames 
one  at  a  time.  I  want  to  ask  your  opinion  of 
the  arrangement.  It  gives  me  great  pleasure 
to  introduce  to  you  my  very  first  love." 

He  busied  himself  with  a  switchboard,  and 
a  vision  of  summer  sea  and  sky  and  land 
sprang  into  life  upon  the  wall.  For  an  instant 
Katharine  stood  at  gaze  and  then  swept  across 
the  room. 

78 


Sste   of  *Dreams 


"  The  '  Isle  of  Dreams,' "  she  breathed. 
"  My  '  Isle  of  Dreams.'  " 

"  In  which  you  will  observe  that  the  sea- 
gulls are  three,  and  the  violet  on  the  little 
cliff  is — oh,  quite  beyond  words.  In  it  you 
will  also  see  a  most  becoming  yachting  suit, 
with  oilskins  and  a  sou'wester  complete.  And 
this  " — he  touched  the  board  again — "  is  to 
the  uninitiated  'A  Study  in  Gentle  Greens,' 
but  to  those  who  know,  it  is  '  A  Dream  of  a 
Dinner  Dress.'  Here  is  a  white  lace  gown. 
The  others  I  can't  identify,  but  they  were,  no 
doubt,  becoming." 

He  touched  button  after  button,  and  Kath- 
arine, silent  now,  absolutely  silent,  wheeled 
from  square  to  square  of  light. 

"  May  I  trouble  you,"  she  said  at  last,  and 
there  was  a  queer  catch  in  her  voice — "  may  I 
trouble  you  to  light  them  all  at  once?  It  is 
so  difficult  to  count." 

He  flooded  the  room  with  light,  and  stood 
face  to  face  with  a  woman  who  shrank  away 
at  his  approach  and  began  madly  to  count  the 
pictures  on  the  walls. 

"You're  surprised,"  said  he  with  a  laugh. 
79 


Ssle   of  'Dreams 


"  But  you  mustn't  let  it  affect  you  so  much. 
You  will  find  that  people  all  up  and  down  this 
broad  land  are  collecting  your  things  just  as 
I  have  done.  You  told  me,  you  know,  that 
the  boy  Fame  was  beginning  to  run  about 
and  to  talk  to  strangers.  Did  any  of  these, 
by  the  way,  endow  that  crib  in  the  hos- 
pital ?  " 

She  had  finished  her  counting,  and  now 
stood  with  her  back  to  the  pictures  and  to  him. 
Her  arms  rested  upon  the  mantelshelf,  and 
her  forehead  upon  her  arms. 

"No,"  she  answered  dully — "no,  thank 
God,  you  can't  claim  that." 

"  Your  hospitality  is  overwhelming.  But 
the  crib  is  safe.  Even  if  I  should  claim  it  I 
shouldn't  fit  into  it.  But  what  did  you  call 
the  picture  which  made  it  possible  ?  " 

"  '  Silver  Sails  Come  Out  of  the  West,'  from 
'  Sweet  and  Low/  you  remember." 

"  Then  I  have  it.  I  keep  it  in  my  room, 
because  only  to  look  at  it  is  to  rest  tired  eyes. 
Was  there  ever  such  luck  ?  I  have  everything 
you've  mentioned." 

Her  face  was  still  hidden,  but  there  was  a 
80 


fslo  of  breams 


droop  in  her  shoulders  and  hips  which  made 
her  seem  smaller  and  slighter  than  ever.  He, 
however,  was  too  absorbed  in  the  scene  to 
which  he  had  been  leading  up  ever  since  the 
morning  to  notice  the  change  in  his  compan- 
ion. Even  her  voice  failed  to  warn  him  as 
she  replied: 

"  Or  painted.  At  least  you  have  everything 
I  ever  sold." 

"Then,"  he  announced  jubilantly,  "I  have 
the  felicity  of  combining  in  my  humble  per- 
son your  admiring  Public,  your  March  hare, 
and  your  Hatter." 

"  How  dared  you  ? "  she  demanded  then, 
turning  upon  him  in  hot  and  sudden  rage. 
"How  dared  you  make  me  your  plaything, 
your  hobby,  your  fad  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Miss  Merrill,"  Robert,  madden- 
ingly unexcited,  replied,  "I  can  assure  you 
that  I  had  no  idea  that  my  man — I've  given  a 
standing  order  to  a  dealer  in  town — had  suc- 
ceeded in  laying  hands  on  more  than  a  few 
of  your  things." 

"You  may  rescind  your  order.  There  are 
— and  will  be — no  more.  I  trust  you  enjoyed 
81 


fsle   of  'Dreams 


this  afternoon?  That  I  was  sufficiently 
amusing?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about," 
said  Ford  stoutly.  "Amusing?  How?" 

"  Surely  it  was  diverting  that  I  should  de- 
scribe myself  to  you  as  celebrity,  a  genius ! 
Talk  to  you  fulsomely  of  the  Fame  the  world 
had  given  me — Me,  whose  whole  audience  is 
the  chance  visitor  you  bring  here — to  you, 
who  has  made  me — what  I  am !  "  And  Ford 
began  to  understand  that  the  scene  was  not 
going  at  all  as  he  had  planned  it. 

"  Now  listen  to  me,"  said  he,  possessing 
himself  of  one  of  Katharine's  trembling  hands 
and  holding  it  in  both  of  his.  "  You  are  talk- 
ing nonsense.  You  must  let  me  explain " 

"  Katharine ! — oh,  Katharine,  dear !  "  cried 
Gladys  from  the  hall. 

"  Confound  it !  "  muttered  Robert. 

"  Quick ;  not  so  much  light !  "  implored 
Katharine.  And  a  moment  later  Miss  Emer- 
ton  was  regarding  the  placid  tableau  of  her 
friend  and  her  host  seated  one  on  either  side 
of  the  hearth  in  the  pleasant  firelit  room. 

When  Jack  revealed  the  art  treasures  to 
82 


Sslo  of  %)reams 


Gladys   her   consternation    was    louder   than 
Katharine's  had  been. 

"Why — why,"  she  stammered,  "they  are 
all  of  them  Katharine's ! " 

"  All  of  Katharine's,"  echoed  Miss  Merrill, 
on  her  stealthy  way  to  the  door.  Robert  bore 
down  upon  her  and  caught  her  just  in  time. 

"I  must  have  a  few  words  with  you,"  he 
insisted  softly  in  the  semisafety  of  the  hall. 
"  You  are  laboring  under  the  gravest  misap- 
prehension which  you  must,  in  common  jus- 
tice, let  me  clear  away." 

"  Not  now,"  she  pleaded.  "  I  want  to  be 
alone.  Give  me  an  hour.  Excuse  me,  some- 
how, to  the  others  and  keep  Gladys  away  from 
me  for  so  long.  Then  she  may  come  up.  But 
just  at  first — it  is  so  new  an  idea  to  me — I 
was  rude — forgive  me.  And  good  night." 

"  Good  night,  Sweet  Genius,"  replied  Ford 
gently.  "  You  are  torturing  yourself  without 
reason — or  rather  I  have  tortured  you.  Be- 
lieve me,  this  matter  is  only  at  its  beginning. 
We  shall  find  a  solution  in  the  morning. 
You  remember  we  have  an  appointment  on 
the  sea  wall." 

83 


fsle   of  'Dreams 


She  placed  her  cold  little  fingers  in  his  hand 
and  smiled  unsteadily  up  at  him : 

"  It  is  the  first  time,"  she  pleaded  in  further 
extenuation  of  her  outbreak,  "  the  very  first 
time  that  fate  was  really  unkind  to  me.  I'm 
not  accustomed  to  being  hurt.  Again,  forgive 
me.  And  again,  good  night." 

Ford  was  doing  battle  with  a  wild  desire  to 
gather  her  close  to  him  and  soothe  her  as  one 
may  soothe  a  tired  and  unhappy  child.  But 
while  he  debated  on  the  probable  result  of  this 
procedure,  she  withdrew  her  hand  with  a  pre- 
occupation which  told  him  that  hers  was  no 
wound  for  such  easy  comfort,  and  that  argu- 
ments would  be  wasted  until  she  had  her  hour 
or  even  her  night  of  solitude. 

And  so,  for  that  hour,  Gladys  had  her  will. 
The  stage  was  hers.  Robert's  attention,  or  as 
much  of  it  as  she  could  detach  from  the  figure 
he  had  seen  toiling  up  the  stairs,  was  hers. 
Jack  drifted  back  to  the  drawing-room  and  to 
Mrs.  Ford,  who  was  still,  with  her  calm  state- 
liness  and  gentle  wit,  the  woman  he  most 
admired. 

When  the  allotted  hour  was  over,  Mrs.  Ford 
84 


"Uhe   SsJe   of  %)reams 


and  Gladys  went  upstairs,  and  the  brothers 
retired  to  the  terrace  for  a  last  cigar. 

"  Your  Miss  Merrill  took  the  gallery  badly," 
commented  Jack.  "  Why  did  she  bolt  ?  " 

"  My  boy,"  said  Robert,  "  that  gallery  was 
a  piece  of  fiendish  torture,  and  I,  fool  that  I 
am,  expected  her  to  enjoy  it.  I'll  explain  it  to 
you  if  you're  not  too  sleepy.  But  your  Miss 
Emerton — why  was  she  so  disturbed?" 

"  My  Miss  Emerton !  "  cried  Jack.  "  Mine ! 
Well,  I  must  say !  Mine !  What  do  you  think 
she  talked  about  as  long  as  she  stayed  up  to- 
day? You.  Who  did  she  come  out  here  to 
see?  You.  And  who  asked  her  to  come  and 
then  threw  her  on  my  hands  ?  You.  Always 
you." 

A  window  opened,  and  the  voice  of  Miss 
Emerton  rang  softly  out:  "Katharine! — oh, 
Katharine,  dear,  are  you  out  there  ?  " 

"  Good  Lord !  "  said  Robert  Ford.  "  What 
next?  Isn't  she  there?" 

Bertha  with  Gladys  and  Mrs.  Ford  in  de- 
corous dishabille  were  soon  in  the  hall.  The 
complications  were  evidently  rather  bewilder- 
ing to  the  mother  who  was  unaccustomed  to 
85 


fslo  of  flreams 


guests — female  and  young — who  vanished 
alone  into  the  night.  Gladys  seemed  to  con- 
sider the  whole  affair  as  a  last  attempt  upon 
the  center  of  interest.  Bertha  was  alert  and 
unsurprised. 

"  Miss  Merrill's  gone  to  town.  She  left  on 
the  10:20  train.  I  was  to  tell  you,  madam, 
that  she  had  not  time  to  say  good-by." 

"But  why  did  she  go?"  asked  Robert. 

"  She  seemed  in  deep  distress,  sir.  First 
she  had  me  call  up  Captain  Jameson,  and  she 
talked  to  him  a  minute  on  the  east  porch. 
Then  she  had  me  help  her  to  dress.  She  said 
she  had  to  go  home  at  once.  '  No  one  dead, 
miss  ?  '  said  I.  '  Yes,  Bertha/  said  she ;  '  he's 
dead.  But  then,  you  know,  he  never  lived.' 
She  seemed  excited  like  that,  and  she  was 
bound  to  get  home.  She  wouldn't  let  me  call 
anyone — not  even  Miss  Emerton.  And  when 
I  suggested  calling  you,  sir,  she  got  terribly 
upset.  So  I  went  with  her  down  to  the  dock, 
there  is  a  moon,  you  know,  sir,  and  the  cap- 
tain took  her  across  to  the  10:20.  He  told 
me  he'd  go  up  to  the  station  with  her,  and  see 
that  she  started  safe.  He  said  this  afternoon 
86 


"Uhe  Ssio   of  breams 


when  he  came  up  with  the  rugs  and  cushions 
that  he  had  never  seen  a  lady  with  such  a 
knack  for  knots.  I  was  to  pack  her  things 
and  send  them  to  her  in  the  morning ! " 

"You  will  leave  Miss  Merrill's  things  in 
her  room,  if  you  please,"  commanded  Robert 
quietly. 

"  My  son,"  began  Mrs.  Ford,  "  Miss  Mer- 
rill is  a  genius  and  a  great  artist,"  and  she 
wondered  why  he  stooped  and  kissed  her. 
"  You  cannot  expect  her  to  behave  as  an  ordi- 
nary person  would.  Let  her  wishes  be  carried 
out.  What  else  can  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  can  find  her,"  said  Robert  Ford. 


VIII 


you  know,  it  might  be 
worse,"  remarked  Tom  Drum- 
mond  consolingly.  "  I  distinctly 
remember  the  last  time  that  your  cousin  hon- 
ored us.  It  was  certainly  worse." 

"  You  need  not  look  forward  to  a  next 
time,"  remarked  his  wife  as  she  rescued  Miss 
Drummond,  aged  five,  from  the  avalanche  of 
pillows  which  had  buried  her  inquiring  per- 
son, "  because  there  never  will  be  a  next  time. 
I  have  borne  all  I  intend  to  bear.  And  when 
Kate  comes  home  and  sees  her  studio,  I  don't 
know  what  she  will  say." 

"  By  the  way,  where  is  our  rich  and  gifted 
neighbor  ?  Why  isn't  she  here  ?  " 

"  Because    she's    off    somewhere    for    the 
week-end.     She     left    a    note    with    Denis. 
Gone  to  do  her  duty  by  Society,  I  suppose. 
88 


'Uhe   fslo   of  breams 


Well,  why  shouldn't  she?  Society  certainly 
does  more  than  its  duty  by  her.  Did  you 
know  that  she  got  some  ridiculous  price  for 
that  last  misty  meadows  thing?  She's  a  fad. 
Her  pictures  never  hang  about  until  people  are 
sick  of  them." 

"  She's  a  fortunate  and  a  gifted  young  per- 
son, that  Kate  of  yours,"  said  her  husband. 
"  Very  fortunate  and  very  gifted." 

"  And  very  dear." 

"  Very  dear.  I  know  only  one  dearer,  and 
she  is  looking  more  than  common  fair  to- 
night." And  he  surveyed  his  brisk  little  wife 
with  the  air  of  satisfied  approbation  which  had 
done  so  much  to  spoil  her  and  had  somehow 
failed  quite  to  do  so.  "  But  how  comes  it,  in 
the  absence  of  our  chatelaine,  that  the  dividing 
doors  are  open  ?  " 

"  Oh,  she  lent  her  rooms  to  Leonie  without 
a  murmur.  She  said  she  would  do  anything 
but  come  to  the  '  swarry,'  as  Sam  Weller  used 
to  call  an  evening  gathering.  But  I  don't 
think  we  shall  be  regaled  with  anything  so 
nourishing  as  his  boiled  leg  of  mutton.  Leo- 
nie is  providing  the  refreshments  this  time." 
89 


Vhe  fsle  of  Breams 


"Shall  we  let  the  kidlets  stay  up?"  asked 
their  indulgent  father.  "  They  were  very  good 
the  other  evening  when  those  nice  young  fel- 
lows came  to  see  Katharine." 

"  Oh,  I'd  much  rather  not !  I  feel  as  though 
I  could  not  see  them  with  the  people  whom 
Leonie  is  sure  to  have  here.  I  should  want 
to  boil  them  afterwards  to  kill  the  germs. 
Denis  will  take  care  of  them.  They  are 
always  good  with  her." 

"  I  suppose  you're  right,  but  we'll  give 
them  some  of  the  '  swarry,' "  Mr.  Drummond 
stipulated.  "  And  now  I  must  dress  for  the 
mad  revel.  We  must  be  ready  when  Genius 
knocks." 

The  sounds  of  revelry  were  at  their  languid 
highest  when  a  latchkey  clicked  unobserved 
in  Miss  Merrill's  door,  and  a  tired,  bewildered 
figure  stood  in  the  opening  and  looked  upon 
the  extraordinary  scene  before  her.  In  the 
center  of  her  dear,  familiar  room — the  quiet 
harbor  to  which  she  had  been  hurrying 
through  the  past  three  hours  of  nightmare — 
a  solitary  candle  stood  upon  a  tabouret  and 
shed  barely  sufficient  light  to  indicate  that 
90 


"Uho  fsle  of  'Dreams 


the  place  was  full  of  people.  Katharine's 
blank  bewilderment  gave  place  to  an  even 
more  blank  enlightenment.  She  had  forgot- 
ten Carrie's  cousin's  party!  And  before  she 
could  effect  her  escape  she  was  pulled  forward 
into  the  darkness  by  Carrie's  eager  hand. 

"  You  darling,"  Mrs.  Drummond  gurgled. 
"  I'll  never  forget  this  of  you !  You  knew 
they  would  kill  me  and  you  came  back  to  re- 
ceive my  parting  breath." 

"  I  forgot,"  gasped  Katharine.  "  Oh,  Car- 
rie, come  away  with  me!  Come  up  to  my 
room." 

"The  ladies'  dressing  room,"  Carrie  an- 
nounced. "  They  keep  running  up  and  down 
dabbing  powder  on  their  awful  noses." 

"  Then  the  library." 

"  The  smoking  room,"  wailed  Carrie. 

"  Your  room." 

"The  green  room.  Several  of  them  are 
making  up  there  for  some  kind  of  a  play. 
There  is  somebody  everywhere,  and  Mrs. 
Pettigrew's  baby  is  asleep  in  the  middle 
drawer  of  your  bureau.  Don't  jump!  The 
drawer  is  open." 

7  91 


"Uhe  fsle   of  ^Dreams 


"  Oh,  I  must  get  away  !  "  wailed  Katharine. 
"  And,  oh,  Carrie,  I  have  so  much  to  tell  you ! 
Where  are  the  babies  ?  " 

"  With  Denis.  This  is  the  last,  the  very  last 
time  that  I  will  lend  my  studio  to  that  lunatic. 
Look  at  her !  Does  she  look  related  to  me  ?  I 
believe  poor  old  Uncle  Robert  found  her  on 
the  doorstep  and  adopted  her.  Now  watch 
her — she's  steering  this  way." 

"  But  what  happened  to  the  electricity,"  de- 
manded Miss  Merrill ;  "  why  are  they  in  the 
dark  ?  And  where  " — for  she  was  rapidly  ad- 
justing herself  to  the  situation — "  where  are  the 
chairs  ?  " 

"  The  lights  were  in  perfect  order,  but  she 
calls  them  crude.  She  brought  that  candle  in 
her  suit  case.  I  forget  her  precise  objection 
to  the  chairs,  but  she  banished  them  and  bor- 
rowed— in  our  names,  yours  and  mine — every 
pillow  and  cushion  on  the  block.  Now  smile 
and  smile  and  be  a  villain  !  Here  she  comes !  " 

An  indistinct  yellow  mass  loomed  out  of  the 
darkness ;    a   pudgy    hand — also   yellow — de- 
tached itself,  and  a  drawling  voice  was  heard 
to  soliloquize  rather  than  to  remark : 
92 


fsle  of  %)reams 


"  Miss  Merrill,  too !    Kind !  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  Katharine  murmured. 

"  Some  of  my  friends,"  the  voice  mumbled 
on,  "  have  come  especially  to  meet  Miss  Mer- 
rill. Bobby,"  and  she  turned  to  her  attending 
satellite,  a  youth  of  not  more  than  sixteen 
blighted  summers,  "  Bobby,  tell  Smithson  to 
come  to  me." 

Bobby  vanished  into  the  darkness  of  the 
room  beyond  where  Katharine's  eyes,  becom- 
ing accustomed  to  the  feeble  light,  could  dis- 
tinguish faint  outlines  of  guests  and  cushions 
in  irregular  heaps  upon  the  floor.  The  yellow 
hostess  meanwhile  delivered  herself  of  several 
remarks,  distinguished  more  by  candor  than 
by  t^ct,  touching  upon  the  need  of  "  true  feel- 
ing "  in  the  treatment  of  rooms  and  furniture. 

"You  hardly  recognize  your  little  place, 
Miss  Merrill,  I  suppose.  Just  a  touch  from 
a  hand  with  real  feeling  was  all  it  needed. 
You  remember  how  you  left  it.  Look  at 
it  now." 

"  She  can't — in  the  dark,"  Carrie  was  begin- 
ning, when  the  obedient  Bobby  returned  ac- 
companied by  an  oblong  patch  of  shirt  front. 
93 


Ssle   of  breams 


Mr.  Smithson  was  of  so  brunette  a  complex- 
ion that  the  shadows  refused  to  reveal  any- 
thing more  of  him  save  the  occasional  and 
very  fleeting  flash  of  cuff. 

"  Smithson,"  the  yellow  bulk  of  hostess  an- 
nounced, "  this  is  Katharine  Merrill.  Kath- 
arine Merrill,  this  is  Smithson.  Know  one 
another ! " 

A  clammy  hand  took  Katharine's,  and 
a  leaden  voice  murmured  conventionalities. 
Then  the  hostess,  seeing  other  duties,  moved 
away,  and  left  Katharine  in  the  uninterrupted 
rays  of  the  pale  candle. 

Then  did  Smithson  smack  his  clammy  hand 
upon  his  marshy  brow  and  raise  his  hollow 
voice : 

"  Nay,  it  cannot  be,"  he  wailed.  "  It  is  too 
young  a  face." 

A  memory  of  the  morning,  the  bright,  nor- 
mal, happy  morning,  shut  down  over  Kath- 
arine. She  was  on  the  sea  wall  again;  she 
was  hearing  again  the  mutinous  and  debonair 
mate :  "  I  don't  in  the  least  believe  that  you 
are  Katharine  Merrill."  And  it  was  fortunate 
that  Smithson  expected  no  reply  to  his  tribute, 
94 


ffslo  of  breams 


for  none  was  forthcoming.  Not  in  the  least 
deterred,  he  continued  : 

"Too  young  a  face,  I  say,  to  have  loved 
and  suffered  and  worked." 

"  It  is  only  in  stories,"  said  Carrie,  the  un- 
regenerate,  seeing  that  a  remark  was  due 
and  that  Katharine  would  not  make  it; 
"  it  is  only  in  stories  and  molehills  that  faces 
work."  But  the  stranger  would  have  none 
of  her. 

"  You  are  cruel,"  the  wan  voice  wailed,  and 
Katharine  felt  that  a  pair  of  slushy  eyes  were 
studying  her.  "You  have  the  cruel  eyes  of 
Art.  They  pierce  my  soul." 

Again  Katharine  made  no  answer,  and  Car- 
rie was  too  accustomed  to  deference  to  go  on 
with  a  conversation  without  its  support.  So 
Smithson  tried  again: 

"  When,"  he  broke  out,  "  when  did  you  first 
find  that  you  had  this  pow-wow-er?  When 
did  you  first  discover  that  you  were  among 
our  Great  ?  " 

No  question  could  have  been  more  nicely 
adjusted  to  overwhelm  Katharine  Merrill,  and 
Smithson  was  delighted  with  its  effect.  He 
95 


Ssle  of  ^Dreams 


was  evolving  other  psychic  subtleties  when 
Carrie  interrupted  him : 

"Who's  the  woman  in  the  portiere?"  she 
demanded.  "  And  how  does  she  keep  it  on  ?  " 

"  That  is  Miss  Jones,"  Smithson  replied, 
"  one  of  the  freest,  bravest  spirits  left  among 
us.  She  overcomes  all  restraint.  She  chafes 
against  all  bonds.  She  is  wonderful !  " 

"  She  is,"  said  Carrie.  "  At  least  her  tut- 
and-simple  is.  I  happened  to  be  near  her  and 
the  candle  simultaneously,  and  I  saw  that  she 
is  kept  from  absolute  freedom  by  one  hairpin 
on  her  head  and  one  brooch  on  her  left  shoul- 
der. I  hope  she  won't  overcome  any  more 
restraints  to-night." 

"  She's  coming  this  way,  now,"  warned 
Katharine.  "  Tell  us,  Mr.  Smithson,  what 
does  she  do?  What  must  one  talk  to  her 
about  ? " 

"  Do ! "  echoed  the  scandalized  Mr.  Smith- 
son.  "  She  does  nothing.  She  simply  lives 
her  life  as  she  has  conceived  it.  It  is  a  lesson 
to  us  all." 

And  then  the  portiere  trailed  up  to  the  little 
group.  It  was  draped,  a  la  Greqne,  upon  the 
96 


"Uhe  fslo  of  'Dreams 


most  bony  and  withered  of  anatomies,  and 
it  was  held  in  place,  as  Katharine's  observa- 
tion corroborated,  by  a  single  cameo  brooch 
of  a  workmanship  as  antique  as  its  wearer. 

"  Oh,  Smithson,  you  here !  "  the  portiere  re- 
marked. "  Horrid  rabble,  horrid  hole !  " 

Smithson  had  once  been  a  gentleman,  and 
he  still  remembered  some  of  the  laws  of  that 
estate.  Freedom  of  opinion  was  one  thing, 
but  this  was  quite  another.  Katharine  de- 
tected his  embarrassment. 

"  Pray  don't  mind  us,"  she  urged,  and  then, 
to  the  portiere :  "  We  regret  that  you  are  not 
more  comfortable.  These  rooms  are  ours.  I 
am  Miss  Merrill.  This  is  Mrs.  Drummond." 

"  Caroline  Drummond !  "  the  portiere  ex- 
claimed. "  The  illustrator  ?  " 

"  The  same,"  said  Carrie. 

"  Then  I  am  repaid  for  coming.  Your  pic- 
tures always  fascinate  me.  I  often  say  to 
Jimmie  that  if  I  could  write  some  stuff  and 
have  you  for  the  drawings  I  should  be  quite 
content.  Jimmie  laughs  at  me ;  but  he  always 
pretends  to  laugh  when  he  really  understands 
me  best.  But  those  dear  lovable  children  you 
97 


"Uho  Jsle  of  Breams 


draw!  So  sweet  and  fat  and  real.  I  always 
feel  that  I  could  undress  them — like  a  doll, 
you  know.  I  love  dolls.  I  have  six  of  them 
at  home.  But  Jimmie  laughs  at  them,  too. 
And  now  I  must  have  you  for  my  friend.  I 
must,  indeed.  Let  me  stay  and  talk  to  you." 

Katharine  was  poised  for  flight,  but  Carrie 
laid  a  detaining  hand  upon  her  knee.  They 
had  retreated  to  a  high-backed  settle  too  heavy 
to  be  removed  even  by  "  the  hand  with  true 
feeling,"  and  Carrie  made  place  for  the  por- 
tiere by  her  side.  But  the  emancipated  one 
would  seem  to  have  spurned  all  furniture. 
She  walked  round  about  herself  three  or  four 
times  until  her  trailing  draperies  were  massed 
to  her  satisfaction.  She  then  collapsed  in 
studied  stages,  and,  adjusting  her  hairpin,  her 
brooch,  and  her  pensive  expression,  she  dug  a 
sharp  elbow  into  Carrie's  knee,  and  breathed 
hard.  When  she  had  thus  signified  the  over- 
whelming nature  of  her  emotions,  she  gurgled 
and  thrilled  inarticulately  for  some  space  be- 
fore she  broke  into  the  startling  announce- 
ment: 

"I  knew  that  you  and  I  should  meet.     I 


"Uhe   Ss/o   of  ^Dreams 


knew  our  souls  would  merge  and  flow  and 
that  we  should  be  friends."  Here  her  over- 
worked hairpin  resigned  and  was  restored  by 
Katharine,  who,  in  her  gratitude  for  the  boon 
of  being  ignored,  would  have  done  almost 
anything. 

"  Yes,  oh,  yes,"  the  Turkish  corner  pur- 
sued. "  Let  our  souls  mingle  and  weep." 

"I  don't  have  much  time  for  that  kind  of 
thing,"  said  Carrie.  "  My  family " 

"  Your  family !  "  shrieked  the  talented  Miss 
Jones  so  shrilly  that  several  other  depressed 
revelers  turned  gloomy  eyes  upon  her.  "  Do 
you  live  with  your  family  ?  " 

"I  do,"  said  Carrie.    "Don't  you?" 

"  I  couldn't.  They  never  understood  me. 
No  one  ever  understood  me — except  Jimmie 
— until  I  found  you."  Carrie  turned  to  Kath- 
arine, and  even  in  the  darkness  it  was  impos- 
sible not  to  observe  that  one  of  her  eyes  closed 
itself  in  a  long  and  deliberate  wink. 

"Yes,  I  think  I  understand  you,"  she  re- 
sponded. "Tell  me  more." 

"  Mine  own  people,"  the  misunderstood  one 
pursued,  while  she  forced  her  hair  into  a 
99 


Sale  of  ^Dreams 


ragged  knot  and  transfixed  it  with  the  sulky 
hairpin,  "  never  made  any  allowance  for  my 
moods  of  high  exaltation  or  deep  despond- 
ency, and  I  had  a  sister  who  was  learning  to 
sing.  Their  callousness  toward  the  bright, 
delicate  soul  which  was  growing  up  in  their 
midst " 

"  Or  in  yours,"  murmured  Carrie. 

"  — was  incredible.  They  actually  expected 
me  to  join  them  at  meal  time ! " 

"  Tyranny !  "  cried  Carrie. 

"  And  I  love  freedom !  I  cannot  live  with- 
out it.  I  am  a  spirit.  A  bird " 

"  You  are,  you  are,"  Mrs.  Drummond 
agreed  with  enthusiasm. 

"  So  I  flew  away.  I  found  a  kindred  spirit. 
I  leaned  upon  it  and  was  comforted.  And  at 
peace." 

"  Bully  for  you ! "  cried  Carrie  blithely. 
"  Bully  for  you !  " 

Then  to  Katharine  in  rapid  quotation: 
"  That's  all  very  well  for  Mary  Ann,  but  what 
must  it  be  for  Abraham  ?  " 

"  His  wife,"  the  free  soul  continued,  "  could 
not  understand  it." 

100 


Sste   of  ^Dreams 


"  I  can  see,  even  in  this  dim  light,  that  she 
might  have  been  puzzled,"  Carrie  agreed. 

"  She  was  so  conventional !  So  limited ! 
Only  last  week  she  refused  again  to  dine  with 
us.  She  has  a  green  soul  and  yet  she  dared 
to  marry  Jimmie.  Didn't  she  know  that  har- 
mony between  them  was  impossible  when  their 
soul-tones  were  antagonistic?  Why,  even  her 
voice  was  green.  And  yet  she  dared  to  marry 
Jimmie  with  his  great  big  royal  purple  soul 
and  voice !  Mine  are  only  violet — pale  violet 
— but  they  harmonize  with  his." 

"  And  then  you  know,"  Carrie  suggested, 
"  your  soul  is  growing  darker  all  the  time. 
That  must  be  a  comfort  to  you." 

"  It  is,"  the  portiere  cried,  "  my  only  one. 
How  you  understand !  Darker  every,  every 
moment !  Beautiful  thought !  " 

Mrs.  Drummond  was  preparing  herself  to 
bestow  other  comfort  when  Bobby,  the 
blighted,  came  out  of  the  night.  "  Refresh- 
ments," he  announced  in  a  tone  suited  to 
the  heralding  of  a  condemned  murderer's 
last  breakfast.  "  What  may  I  bring  you, 
ladies  ?  " 

101 


fsie   of  Breams 


"  What  is  there?  "  demanded  the  spirit  with 
materialistic  interest. 

"  Turkish  and  Egyptian,  Scotch  and  Rye," 
chanted  Bobby. 

"  Scotch  and  Egyptian,  please,"  ordered  the 
Bird,  while  Carrie  set  out  in  angry  haste  to 
remonstrate  with  her  yellow  cousin,  and  Kath- 
arine escaped  to  the  more  congenial  atmos- 
phere of  Mrs.  Denis's  apartments,  there  to  be 
right  royally  welcomed  by  the  two  Miss 
Drummonds,  a  scandalized  old  lady,  and 
Doris  Gwendolin  Patricia. 

Denis's  sense  of  outraged  hospitality  was 
clamoring  for  an  audience,  and  found  it  in 
Katharine.  Indignation  had  undone  the  long 
training  of  the  public  library,  and  she  was 
Celt,  pure  Celt,  as  she  demanded: 

"  Is  it  mad  entirely  they  are  this  night  ?  " 
in  accents  of  scorn  and  Kerry.  "  There's 
about  eighty  of  thim  in  it,  an'  not  a  cake  nor 
a  pail  of  cream  has  passed  the  door.  An'  the 
screeches  of  thim !  Not  laughs,  mind  ye,  but 
screeches  fit  to  wake  the  dead.  An'  it's  all  in 
the  dark  they  are,  like  a  Protestant  bishop,  as 
the  sayin'  is.  But  sit  you  down,  my  poor  tired 

102 


TJhe  Ssle  of  Breams 


lamb.  There's  plenty  of  chairs  here  for  you  to 
choose  from.  Children  an'  chairs  stays  with 
me  this  night.  It'll  soon  be  over  now,  please 
God,  an'  we'll  be  able  to  go  to  bed.  For  the 
sand  man  went  by  a  long  time  ago,  and  some 
of  us  are  sleepy." 

So  Katharine  held  one  drowsy  child  in  her 
arms  until  the  last  cab  had  rattled  off  and  the 
last  heel  had  clicked  away  into  the  young  May 
night  which,  even  in  New  York,  held  a  sense 
of  spring.  Then  when  the  children  had  been 
tucked  up  for  the  few  remaining  hours,  and 
when  Mrs.  Drummond's  concern  and  curios- 
ity had  grown  beyond  bearing  point,  Kath- 
arine Merrill  sank  into  one  of  the  heaps  of 
cushions  in  her  transformed  studio  and  told 
the  story  of  her  visit.  Carrie  perched  upon 
the  tabouret  when  she  had  thrown  the  remain- 
ing inches  of  the  candle  out  through  the  gar- 
den window  and  snapped  on  all  the  electric 
lights.  Mr.  Drummond  rescued  an  uncom- 
prising  chair  from  the  lower  hall  and  stretched 
his  long,  cramped  legs. 

"  You're  sure  you  want  to  tell  us  ?  "  Carrie 
asked  in  noble  disinterestedness  when  she  had 
103 


fsle  of 


seen  her  friend's  face  in  brilliant  light.  "  Sure 
you  wouldn't  rather  wait  until  the  morning? 
Of  course  I  shall  have  died  long  before  then, 
but  don't  let  that  influence  you." 
'  "  No,  no,  I  must  talk  it  out  now.  Unless  " 
— hesitatingly — "  it  is  too  late.  I  don't  know 
what  time  it  is  or  what  day  it  is.  Am  I  keep- 
ing you  two  up  ?  " 

"  Nonsense !  "  cried  Carrie.     "  Begin." 


104 


IX 


U  know  Gladys  Emerton  ?  "  queried 
Katharine. 

"  Horrid  prig,"  was  Mrs.  Drum- 
mond's  comment.  "  Doris  Gwendolin  Pa- 
tricia suspected  that  she  was  responsible  for 
your  vanishing.  D.  G.  P.  has  conceived  a 
healthy  hatred  for  that  unbearable  friend  of 
yours.  Well,  and  what  did  Miss  Emerton  do 
to  you  ?  " 

"  I  went  with  her  on  Friday,  before  you 
people  came  home,  to  stay  with  some  friends 
of  hers  down  in  Connecticut." 

"  Name  and  full  description  of  friends," 
commanded  Mrs.  Drummond  as  she  fluttered 
off  the  tabouret,  adjusted  a  cushion  to  Kath- 
arine's head,  and  fluttered  back  again. 

"  Ford  was  the  name.  A  Mrs.  Ford  and 
her  two  sons." 

105 


Ssle  of  breams 


"  Ages  of  same  ?  " 

"  Oh,  indefinite !    Thirty  or  forty,  perhaps." 

"  Names  ? " 

"  They  call  one  Jack.  I  suppose  his  name 
is  John." 

"  Name  of  other  son  is  suppressed  because 
more  interesting  to  witness,"  Carrie  remarked 
to  her  husband. 

"  Nonsense,  I  take  no  interest  in  either  of 
them.  The  older  brother's  name  is  Robert." 

"  A  charming  fellow,  Robert  Ford.  I  know 
him  slightly,"  Drummond  interrupted.  "  You 
and  he  ought  to  get  on  capitally  together. 
He's  picture  mad.  I  see  him  at  all  the  ex- 
hibitions." 

"  One  of  us,  Kate  ?  "  asked  Carrie.  "  I 
don't  recognize  the  name." 

"It  may  seem  stupid,  but  really,  I  don't 
know  what  he  is."  And  Carrie  drew  her 
own  conclusions,  knowing  that  when  a 
man's  profession  or  occupation  ceases  to 
be  a  matter  of  interest  to  a  maid,  it  is 
what  Mrs.  Denis  calls  "  a  dangerous  looking 
sign  "  indeed. 

"  He  is,"  said  Drummond,  "  what  the  pa- 
106 


TJhe  Ssle   of  'Dreams 


pers  describe  as  a  '  capable  young  financier.' 
There  is  a  rumor,  supported  by  an  office  in 
our  building  and  a  staff  of  clerks,  that  he 
works,  but  I've  never  heard  of  his  doing  any- 
thing more  strenuous  than  being  bored  at 
trustees'  meetings  and  by  executors'  ac- 
counts." 

"  And  what,"  asked  Mrs.  Drummond, 
"  could  your  rich  young  picture-fancying 
trustee-executor  have  done  to  drive  our  Kate 
out  into  the  night  and  back  to  the  stuffy 
city  ?  " 

"  He  had  a  picture  gallery,"  Katharine  be- 
gan stiffly,  and  a  dull  flush  dyed  all  her  face 
— even  her  ears  and  her  neck  were  crimson. 
"  He  showed  it  to  me ;  described  it  to  me — to 
me — as  a  fad  of  his;  and  then,  of  course,  I 
came  home." 

Mrs.  Drummond  arose  and  gathered  Kath- 
arine into  her  arms.  "  The  brute !  "  she  cried, 
and  then  to  her  puzzled  husband :  "  Your 
charming  Robert  Ford  must  have  charming 
taste  in  pictures.  Look  at  poor  old  Kate.  It's 
shameful  that  any  kind  of  girl  interested  in 
any  kind  of  art  should  be  supposed —  But 
8  107 


"Uhe  Ssle   of  'Dreams 


never  mind,  dear.     He's  not  worth  bothering 
about — the  brute!" 

"  You  are  quite  wrong,"  Katharine  inter- 
posed, freeing  herself  from  her  friend's  em- 
brace, and  then  impulsively  returning  it. 
"  His  collection  was  almost  entirely  of  land- 
scapes, and  painted — think  of  it,  Carrie — by 
me." 

"  How  delightful !  "  cried  Mrs.  Drummond, 
who  certainly  had  Matthew  Arnold's  "  open- 
ness of  mind  and  flexibility  of  intelligence." 
"  How  romantic !  How  perfectly  fine  for 
you ! " 

"  Gently,  old  girl,  gently  now,"  Drummond 
warned  her,  as  he  saw  that  Katharine  was  on 
the  verge  of  hysterical  tears,  and  that  the 
touch  of  Carrie's  arms  and  lips  would  pre- 
cipitate the  crisis.  "Quietly,  take  it  quietly, 
Katharine.  Go  on."  But  his  warning  was 
too  late,  and  with  a  wail  of  "  He  has  every 
single  thing  I  ever  painted  shut  up  there  in 
a  room  where  no  one  ever  goes,"  the  Genius 
collapsed,  sobbing,  into  Carrie's  arms. 

"It  isn't  true,"  cried  Carrie,  vehemently. 
"  It  can't  be  true." 

108 


fsle  of  'Dreams 


"  But  it  is,"  wailed  Katharine.  "  I  saw 
them.  He  has  every  one  of  them.  And,  Car- 
rie, do  you  know  what  that  makes  of  me  ?  " 

"  It  isn't  true,"  repeated  Carrie  more  vehe- 
mently, but  with  less  conviction,  and  then 
added,  as  if  in  defiance  of  a  thought  which 
no  one  had  expressed,  "  And  even  if  he  has 
them,  you  are  just  what  you  always  were." 

"  But  I  never  knew  it  until  to-night,"  and 
Katharine  looked  desolately  round  her  deso- 
lated room.  "Think  what  a  fool  I've  been! 
Think  how  I've  imposed  on  everyone — my- 
self, you  two,  everyone!  Oh,  Carrie,  Carrie, 
did  such  a  thing  ever  happen  to  anyone?  If 
you  read  it  in  a  story  you'd  think  it  was  im- 
possible." 

"  I  think  so  now,"  said  Carrie,  stoutly,  but 
her  eyes  were  wide  with  hurt  and  surprise. 
She  herself  was  an  illustrator  of  children's 
books,  so  successful  and  so  busy  as  to  have 
no  time  for  more  serious  and  permanent  work. 
But  all  her  pride  and  ideals  centered  in  Kate. 
Kate  so  gifted,  so  calmly  aspiring,  so  far  above 
the  shifts  and  compromises  to  which  less  for- 
tunate workers  are  forced  to  stoop.  All  the 
109 


T>he  Sale   of  'Dreams 


pride  which  she  might  have  lavished  upon 
the  fulfillment  of  her  own  dreams  she  made 
over  to  the  gems  which  her  friend  wrought 
so  earnestly  and  happily  in  the  big  studio 
where  the  elder  Miss  Drummond  and  Doris 
Gwendolin  Patricia  played  intricate  "make 
believes,"  sometimes  helped  but  generally 
hindered,  by  the  younger  Miss  Drummond, 
while  the  mother  sketched  them  happily  from 
her  nest  in  the  window  seat. 

So  Katharine's  fame  had  grown  as  dear  to 
her  friend  as  it  was  to  herself,  and  so  Mrs. 
Drummond,  when  she  grasped  the  full  import 
of  the  announcement,  only  strengthened  her 
earlier  verdict. 

"  The  brute,"  she  repeated.  "  The  heart- 
less, sneaking  brute." 

"  Of  course,"  Katharine  continued,  and  her 
voice  was  nearly  steady  now,  "  of  course  this 
changes  everything.  I'm  not  what  we  all 
thought.  I'm  a  one  man's  fad,  and  he  is 
neither  clever  enough  nor  important  enough 
to  make  the  position  less  than  an  insult.  Now, 
what  is  one  to  do  ?  " 

"  Kill  him,"  suggested  Carrie,  who  was 
no 


"Uhe   fsle   of  'Dreams 


about  five  feet  high  and  very  fair.    "  Death  is 
too  good  for  him." 

"  There  are  more  lawful  ways  of  meeting 
the  situation,"  her  pacific  husband  suggested. 
He  was  too  familiar  with  the  flights  of  these 
inseparables  to  attempt  to  follow  them  into 
the  high  places  of  their  emotion,  and  always 
waited,  calmly  secure,  for  their  return  to  his 
more  practical  level.  "  One  would  be  to  buy 
the  pictures  from  him  and  to  sell  them  broad- 
cast— even  at  a  loss — among  the  dealers  and 
fanciers.  Carrie  was  saying  only  this  evening 
that  there  was  never  any  difficulty  about  sell- 
ing your  things." 

"  No,  because  Mr.  Ford's  agent  bought  them 
all.  No  one  else  ever  bought — or  wanted — 
one  of  them.  And  besides,  I  haven't  the  money 
to  buy  them  from  him.  I've  spent  thousands 
of  dollars  of  his  which  I  never  shall  be  able  to 
repay.  I've  dressed  and  played  and  lived 
upon  his  bounty  and  his  ignorance  of  art.  I 
have  been  simply  one  of  his  extravagances." 

"  No,  no,"  Carrie  protested.     "  Don't  talk 
like  that.    He  was  right  about  the  value  of  the 
pictures.    But,  oh,  I  wish  he  were  dead !  " 
in 


"U/ie   fsle   of  Vreams 


"  That  would  make  it  worse,"  Drummond 
reminded  her,  "  and  it's  deplorable  enough  as 
it  is." 

"  Poor  old  Kate,"  murmured  Carrie. 
"What  would  you  most  like  to  do?" 

"  I  thought  it  all  out  on  the  train  to-night. 
I  shall  go  to  a  little  place  in  Brittany.  I  used 
to  sketch  there  years  ago,  and  I  know  the 
dearest  old  woman  in  the  dearest  old  cot- 
tage who  will  take  me  in  and  be  good  to  me. 
And  I  shall  paint — how  I  shall  paint!  You 
see,  I  shall  be  beginning  all  over  to  make  a 
name  and  a  fame.  But  I  shall  miss  you  all 
so  !  And  Denis !  " 

"Oh,  the  brute!"  ejaculated  Carrie  again 
with  more  vigor  than  variety.  "  The  stupid, 
unappreciative,  interfering  brute.  But  why 
do  you  let  him  influence  you,  Kate?  Just 
stay  here  with  us — the  babies  would  be  lost 
without  you — and  show  him  how  little  you 
care.  You  needn't  fly  off  to  old  women  in 
Brittany  because  one  young  man  in  New  York 
buys  too  many  of  your  pictures.  Stay  here 
and  paint  some  more." 

"  No,"  said  Drummond,  "  Katharine  is 
112 


Ssle   of  IDreams 


right.  She  couldn't  do  good  work  here  until 
this  matter  is  arranged.  Let  her  begin  again, 
without  any  handicap,  in  a  new  place.  The 
foreign  salons  and  exhibitions  are  her  straight- 
est  road  to  all  Ford  has  kept  from  her." 

"I  wish,"  said  Mrs.  Drummond  darkly, 
"that  I  might  have  a  few  moments  of  unin- 
terrupted conversation  with  that  young  man." 

"Or  monologue?"  suggested  her  husband. 
"  You  are  so  wonderful  in  monologue." 


ON  the  ensuing  morning  the  remnants 
of  the  week-end  party  found  them- 
selves marooned  upon  the  Island. 
The  weather  had  retreated  six  weeks  into  the 
past  and  a  sullen  March  sea  scowled  at  a  sul- 
len March  sky,  while  the  flowers  of  yesterday 
shook  dolefully  in  a  rough  wind  which  dashed 
clouds  of  spray  and  rain  against  the  windows. 
A  mile  of  impassable  water  separated  the  Isl- 
and from  the  shore  and  called  forth  the  male- 
dictions of  Robert  Ford  and  the  gratitude  of 
his  remaining  guest. 

During  several  wakeful  periods  of  the 
night,  Gladys  Emerton  had  pondered  on  the 
course  she  should  pursue,  and  had  been  un- 
able to  formulate  any  plausible  reason  for 
neglecting  a  very  inconvenient  duty.  Even 
her  limited  power  of  sympathy  told  her  that 
114 


Vh*   fsle   of  'Dreams 


Katharine  must  be  suffering  acutely  and  that 
she,  in  her  role  of  intimate  friend,  could  not 
do  less  than  follow  and  condole.  It  was  not 
until  nearly  morning  that  a  satisfactory  plan 
occurred  to  her.  A  committee  of  two  should 
hasten  to  the  sufferer.  Robert  had  announced 
a  determination  to  find  Katharine.  What 
could  be  more  natural  than  that  Gladys,  too, 
should  fly — with  him — to  the  side  of  her  af- 
flicted one.  She  could  imagine  and  arrange 
many  little  incidents  and  tableaux  in  such  a 
mission  calculated  to  arouse  his  slow  admira- 
tion. Katharine  in  tears  could  not  bear 
comparison  with  her  friend's  tender  but  un- 
disfigured  pity,  and  Gladys  rather  fancied  that 
her  long  "  svelte "  figure  would  adapt  itself 
gracefully  to  the  support  of  Katharine's  dis- 
heveled and  woe-begone  person. 

But  the  weather  had  managed  an  even  more 
desirable  condition  of  things,  and  Gladys,  as 
she  donned  a  charming  morning  gown  and  a 
no  less  becoming  air  of  resigned  concern,  rec- 
ognized, as  she  thought,  the  working  of  a 
special  Providence  in  her  behalf,  and  prepared 
for  a  whole  day  of  uninterrupted  opportunity. 


Ssie   of  'Dreams 


"  And  a  great  deal  can  be  done  in  twenty-four 
hours,"  she  reflected.  "  Katharine  never  met 
him  until  the  day  before  yesterday,  and  he 
was  perfectly  ridiculous  about  her  last  night. 
And  she  was  even  more  ridiculous  dashing  off 
in  that  melodramatic  way.  I  suppose  these 
Fords  will  think  that  I  have  very  peculiar 
friends." 

Jack's  opinion  on  this  point,  as  upon  all 
others,  was  unexpressed,  as  that  young  gentle- 
man elected  to  remain  perdu  and  to  consume  a 
meal — which  was  either  breakfast  or  lunch- 
eon, according  as  one  chose  to  judge  it  by 
time  or  by  constituents — in  the  privacy  of  his 
apartments.  Neither  the  half-amused  expos- 
tulation of  his  mother  nor  the  all-indignant 
strictures  of  his  brother  could  move  him,  and 
he  was  still  chuckling  under  his  blankets  when 
the  other  two  went  down  to  breakfast  and 
their  guest. 

For  Robert  it  was  a  cheerless  repast,  al- 
though Miss  Emerton,  a  brisk  little  fire,  and 
a  bowl  of  daffodils  did  what  they  could  to 
enliven  it,  and  Mrs.  Ford  seconded  their  ef- 
forts with  a  sedate  philosophy  which  re- 
116 


Ssie   of 


mained  unshaken  while  guests  and  sunshine 
vanished. 

"  Dear  Katharine  is  so  impulsive,"  Gladys 
gushed.  "  She's  always  flying  off  at  tangents 
and  then  coming  back  again.  But  until  she 
is  ready  to  come  back  it  is  always  best  to  let 
her  fight  things  out  alone.  I  always  said  that 
her  hypersensitiveness  would  get  her  into 
trouble,  and  now  it  has.  There  she  is  back  in 
that  dreary  town  alone,  while  I  am  here  with 
you,"  and  she  presented  her  hostess  with  a 
beautifully  made  smile. 

"  Alone  ?  "  queried  Ford.  "  She  spoke  of 
friends  sharing  her  house." 

"  The  Drummonds,"  rejoined  Gladys. 
"  Such  queer  people !  It  is  altogether  the 
queerest  household,  but  dear  Katharine  is  so 
loyal  and  so  dependent  on  the  opinion  of 
others  that  she  would  not  part  with  them  even 
when  I  wanted  her  to  share  an  apartment  in 
a  really  modern  part  of  town  with  me.  I 
couldn't  make  her  see  it.  She  insisted  that 
she  could  not  leave  the  old  house  because  it 
had  been  her  grandfather's;  because  Denis — 
a  queer  old  woman  who  used  to  be  her  nurse 
117 


fs/e   of  Breams 


— wouldn't  bear  transplanting;  because  she 
loved  the  garden;  and  because  she  couldn't 
do  without  the  children." 

"  The  children  are  Mrs.  Drummond's  ? " 
Mrs.  Ford  inferred.  "  I  remember  Bertha's 
telling  us  last  night  that  your  friend  was 
troubled  about  a  little  boy." 

"  That  must  have  been  a  mistake,"  Gladys 
answered,  and  she  wondered  at  her  host's  agi- 
tation. "The  children  are  three  little  girls. 
Two  belong  to  the  Drummonds  and  Mrs. 
Denis  adopted  the  other,  through  a  queer 
craving  for  something  to  take  care  of,  while 
Katharine  was  studying  in  Europe.  She  is 
the  strangest  little  creature  you  ever  saw. 
And  the  affection  of  this  hodgepodge  of  a 
family  is  the  only  argument  she  brings  to  bear 
against  my  suggestion  of  the  apartment  with 
electric  lights,  steam  heat,  an  elevator,  the 
subway  station  a  block  away,  and  a  trolley 
passing  the  door." 

"  I   know   a  man  called  Drummond,"   re- 
marked Ford.     "  I  wonder  if  by  any  chance 
Miss  Merrill's  friend  could  be  his  wife.     She 
is  some  sort  of  an  artist,  I  believe." 
118 


T>ho  fsle  of  Breams 


"  She  illustrates  children's  books,"  Gladys 
admitted,  conscious  of  having  made  an  inju- 
dicious move,  and  not  knowing  quite  how  to 
unmake  it.  "  You  have  met  her  ?  "  she  asked. 
"Personally  she  is  perfectly  all  right,  but  I 
don't  like  her  influence  "for  Katharine." 

"  For  my  part  I  should  be  inclined  to  choose 
the  garden  and  the  children,"  said  Mrs.  Ford. 
"  But  it  seems  unusual  in  one  of  you  new 
women.  I  thought  you  considered  such  things 
antiquated." 

"  Katharine  doesn't.  But  then  you  could 
hardly  call  her  advanced.  She  and  Carrie 
Drummond  play  with  those  little  girls  until,  I 
assure  you,  their  mentality  is  becoming  affected 
and  they  have  no  true  sense  of  values.  You 
see  yourself  what  a  childish  thing  dear  Kate 
did  last  night.  There  isn't  a  scrap  of  harm  in 
her,  and  there  are  several  wonderfully  good 
points  about  her,  but  she  is  certainly  imma- 
ture for  a  girl  who  has  been  thrown  upon  her 
own  resources  for  so  long." 

Yes,  that  was  it,  Robert  told  himself  when 
he  was  safe  in  the  smoking  room.  She 
was  strangely  like  a  child.  She  had  played 
119 


Vhe  fste  of  'Dreams 


about  the  Katrinka  like  a  humming  bird — 
bright,  alert,  and  quivering  with  life.  He  re- 
membered her  as  she  challenged  Captain 
Jameson  to  a  tournament  of  complicated 
knots,  and  taught  him  one  which  she  had 
learned  from  a  Breton  fisherman,  and  again 
as  she  held  herself  erect  against  the  wind  with 
barely  a  touch  of  her  fingers  against  the  mast, 
while  her  whole  lithe  body  bent  and  straight- 
ened to  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  boat.  And 
her  gayety,  her  frank  pride,  her  almost  boyish 
enjoyment  of  life  and  sun  and  wind  and  water 
and  motion.  He  comforted  his  impatience  by 
reflecting  that  the  very  intensity  of  her  grief, 
the  blind  unthinking  impulse  to  get  away  from 
the  hurt  and  back  to  the  people  she  loved,  ar- 
gued that  the  grief  would  be  short-lived.  He 
would  go  to  her  as  soon  as  he  and  Captain 
Jameson  could  fight  a  passage  to  the  main- 
land, and  he  would  find  her  ready  to  treat  the 
accident  of  his  having  absorbed  all  her  work 
as  the  grewsome  joke  it  really  was.  On  one 
point  at  least  he  could  reassure  her.  The  mar- 
ket value  of  "  Katharine  Merrills  "  was  in  the 
ascendant.  Some  of  the  earlier  canvases  had 
120 


Sale  of  %)reams 


been  inexpensive  enough,  but  lately  his  agent 
had  found  it  increasingly  difficult  to  persuade 
owners — whether  dealers  or  private  collectors 
— to  part  with  even  a  sketch.  And  this  was 
not,  as  he  could  prove  to  her,  because  he  was 
known  to  be  on  the  lookout  for  her  work, 
but  because  its  excellence  and  originality  were 
making  themselves  felt.  He  had  really  and 
unconsciously  done  her  a  service  by  keeping 
her  work  within  her  reach  until  she  had  estab- 
lished her  position.  If  he  could  but  persuade 
her  to  take  this  view  of  the  matter  it  would 
be  comparatively  simple  to  find  some  method 
of  turning  this  extraordinary  accident  to  good 
account. 

But  she,  meanwhile,  was  suffering  torments 
of  self-scorn  and  self-doubt,  while  he  was 
shut  in  on  this  silly  island  by  a  spiteful  freak 
of  weather  and  forced  to  endure  the  inanities  of 
a  girl  Jack  had  grown  tired  of. 

It  was  strange  friendship,  he  reflected, 
which  existed  between  these  two  girls.  One 
so  artificial,  so  selfish,  and  withal  so  pathetic 
in  her  satisfied  conventionality.  The  other 
such  a  strange  product  of  a  strange  child- 
121 


fsie  of  IDreams 


hood.  Such  a  child  she  was.  Such  a  woman 
she  might  be  made.  Subjected,  as  he  sur- 
mised, to  the  most  disillusioning  of  influences 
and  keeping  her  illusions !  Going  unsmirched 
through  student  experiences  in  foreign  cities ! 
Believing  that  mankind  was  still  adorned  by 
all  the  virtues  after  who  could  guess  how 
many  disappointments  and  betrayals !  Vener- 
ating truth  and  love  and  honor  when  they 
were  all  out  of  fashion,  and  expecting  from 
all  mankind  the  warm  and  cordial  kindness 
with  which  she  regarded  it !  To  hear  her  dis- 
course of  the  gratitude  and  generosity  of  the 
world  was  to  believe  that  the  millennium  had 
set  in.  Ford  wondered  restlessly  how  long 
this  faith  could  be  preserved,  and  how  much 
he,  who  would  have  so  gladly  kept  the  glamor 
close  and  bright  around  her,  had  done  to 
destroy  it. 

A  half  hour's  conversation  with  Captain 
Jameson  in  the  tobacco  and  paint  scented 
warmth  of  the  boathouse  did  nothing  to  re- 
lieve his  impatience.  The  captain  had  con- 
ceived an  ardent  and  outspoken  admiration 
for  his  yesterday's  commander,  but  was 
122 


Sslo  of  Wreams 


greatly  puzzled  by  the  course  of  events  on 
the  preceding  evening. 

"  But  I  leave  it  to  you,  sir,"  he  argued. 
"  What  can  a  man  do  when  a  little  lady,  young 
enough  to  be  his  daughter  an'  smart  enough 
to  do  what  I  yesterday  see  that  one  do,  asks 
a  favor  off  him.  An'  Bertha  will  tell  you 
how  pitiful  she  kept  sayin' :  '  Captain,  dear 
captain  ' — she  called  me  '  dear  captain '  just 
like  that — '  take  me  to  the  shore  an'  let  me  go 
home.  I  can't  stay  here  no  more.' " 

"  I  wish  I  had  known  of  it,"  said  Robert. 
"  I  might  have  persuaded  her  to  stay." 

"  Just  what  I  says  to  her ;  and  Bertha  says 
similar.  '  Speak  to  Mr.  Ford  before  you  goes,' 
we  says.  And  she  says :  '  Captain,'  she  says, 
drawing  herself  up  a  little,  '  don't  you  know 
as  I  am  commandin'  of  the  Katrinka  for  this 
day,'  and  she  sort  of  smiles  a  smile  as  make 
my  neck  swell  up  here,"  and  the  captain  indi- 
cated a  stubble  grown  tract  in  the  region  of 
his  collar.  " '  You  sure  are,  ma'am/  says  I, 
for  a  more  beguilin'  young  female  I  never 
seen  than  her  in  that  whitey  evenin'  rig  o' 
hers.  '  Well,'  she  says,  '  an'  didn't  you  hear 
9  123 


"Uhe  Ssle   of  'Dreams 


Mr.  Ford  say  as  how  you  an'  Pier  was  at  my 
orders  an'  I  had  only  to  ask  to  have  ?  '  '  Them 
is  orders,  ma'am,'  I  says,  and  Bertha,  she  says : 
'  Them  is  always  Mr.  Ford's  orders  for  his 
guests.'  An'  then  that  young  lady  turns  to 
me  an'  she  says  agin :  '  Dear  Captain  Jameson, 
this  ain't  orderin'  at  all.  It's  askin'.  I'm 
askin'  you  to  take  me  ashore.  Will  you  do 
it  ? '  '  Ashore  it  is,  ma'am/  I  says,  an'  does 
it  as  soon  as  Bertha  has  her  fixed.  I  takes 
her  to  the  train  an'  puts  her  aboard.  Pier, 
he  wants  to  start  up  steam  an'  take  her  that 
way,  but  I  ain't  trustin'  her  to  nobody  but 
myself.  An'  as  we  was  waitin'  for  the  train 
to  come  in  she  says,  kinder  shaky,  an'  I  see 
by  the  lamps  her  eyes  was  wet :  '  Captain,'  she 
says,  '  be  careful  of  the  Katrinka.'  '  Captain, 
to  you,  ma'am,'  I  says,  '  I  will  until  you  take 
the  helm  again.'  '  Never  no  more/  she  says, 
'  but  here's  something  I  want  you  to  keep  to 
remember  me  by/  an'  she  puts  a  little  bundle 
in  my  hand.  An'  then  the  train  took  her,  an' 
here's  what  I  had,"  and  the  captain,  after  un- 
buttoning many  layers  of  coat  and  knitted 
waistcoat,  disclosed  the  pocket  of  a  blue  flan- 
124 


'Uhe  Ssle  of  *Droams 


nel  shirt.  From  this  depository  he  drew  out 
a  long  silken  cord  with  a  gold  whistle  attached 
to  it.  "  You  seen  it  round  that  little  white  neck 
o'  hers,"  he  reminded  Ford,  who  stood  in  need 
of  no  reminding,  "  an'  she'd  took  time  to  tie 
it  in  that  French  knot  I  was  so  took  by.  An' 
now,  sir,"  he  went  on  when  he  had  restored 
it  to  its  place  and  had  risen  to  his  sturdy 
legs,  "  I've  knowed  you  a  long  time  an'  I've 
served  you  true.  But  I  says  an'  I  means,  that 
when  you  took  an'  made  that  little  lady  feel- 
er let  anybody  else  make  her  feel — like  she 
couldn't  stay  no  more  in  your  house,  you  done 
a  bad  day's  work,  Mr.  Ford,  a  bad  day's 
work." 

"  It  was  indeed  a  bad  day's  work,"  Ford 
acquiesced.  "  But  I  never  knew  that  I  was 
doing  it  until  the  thing  was  done.  And  now 
I  am  tied  up  here  for  no  one  knows  how 
long." 

"  This  gale  looks  good  for  all  day,"  the 
captain  gloomily  agreed,  as  he  consulted  his 
barometer  and  took  careful  survey  of  condi- 
tions outside  the  warm  little  boathouse.  "  It's 
quite  a  blow,  sir." 

125 


"Uhe  fsle   of  breams 


Ford  joined  him  at  the  window  and  looked 
dejectedly  out.  The  captain  studied  the  stern- 
lipped,  troubled-eyed  face  beside  him  as 
sharply  as  he  had  studied  the  other  barometer 
or  the  sky,  and  something  he  saw  there  gave 
him  cause  for  thought,  and  thought  led  him  to 
deliberate  speech. 

"Females,"  he  remarked,  with  a  beautiful 
generality,  "  is  like  boats.  The  best  of  'em  is 
the  hardest  to  handle.  Take  a  racer.  Look 
at  the  build  of  her  an'  the  rig  of  her.  An' 
give  her  her  head  and  what  does  she  do. 
There  ain't  nobody  on  earth  can  tell  you,  sir. 
An'  that  little  lady  sure  is  racer  built.  We 
comes  home  all  hands  happy  and  willin'  at 
five  o'clock,  an'  at  nine  she  says  she  can't  stay 
no  more." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  happened,"  Ford  volun- 
teered, glad  to  find  some  one  to  whom  he  could 
talk  rationally  and  freely.  "Then  you'll  see 
what  I  mean  by  saying  that  I  didn't  know 
what  I  was  doing  until  it  was  too  late  to  stop." 

The  captain  listened  attentively  with  his 
wise  old  eyes  on  the  bowl  of  his  pipe  and  a 
judicial  twist  in  all  his  features.  Ford  knew 
126 


fslo   of  ^Dreams 


him  too  well  to  attempt  explanation  or  ampli- 
fication, and  the  captain's  comprehension  was 
as  instant  as  it  was  concerned. 

"  Mebbe  it  was  too  late  to  do  anything  yes- 
terday," he  admitted,  when  he  had  heard  all 
the  complications  of  pride,  surprise,  humilia- 
tion, and  flight,  "  but  it  strikes  me  it's  about 
time  to  do  something  now.  She'll  be  workin' 
herself  up  into  a  spell  of  sickness  if  you  don't 
go  an'  straighten  her  mind  out  on  these  here 
points  as  you  have  explained  to  me." 

"  How  can  I  ?  "  queried  Ford  impatiently. 
"  Look  at  that  sea.  Listen  to  that  confounded 
wind." 

"  Sho !  "  ejaculated  Captain  Jameson.  "  Be 
you  goin'  to  let  a  little  breeze  o'  wind  come 
betwixt  you  an'  a  thing  like  that  what's  got 
to  be  done?  You  go  git  your  shore  clothes 
on  while  the  Boy  an'  me  gits  the  old  dory  out. 
Ain't  no  sea  what  this  little  bit  o'  blow  kin 
kick  up  as  is  too  much  for  a  Cape  Cod  dory. 
What's  the  time  ?  " 

"  Noon." 

"You  want  to  hurry.  Tide  turns  about 
one." 

127 


fslo   of  ^Dreams 


"  I'll  go  in  these  things.  Change  and  get 
lunch  at  the  club.  I'll  speak  to  Mrs.  Ford 
and  be  with  you  in  ten  minutes." 

"  Good,  sir,"  responded  Jameson,  and  de- 
parted into  the  storm,  stentoriously  calling 
upon  the  invisible  Boy. 

The  pose  of  graceful  expectancy  in  which 
Miss  Emerton  had  draped  herself  against  the 
balustrades  when  she  detected  the  approach 
of  her  host  was  wasted  upon  his  preoccupa- 
tion and  shattered  by  his  first  question: 

"  May  I  take  any  message  from  you  to  Miss 
Merrill?" 

"Take — to  Miss  Merrill?"  she  repeated. 
"  On  such  a  day  ?  In  such  a  storm  ? "  and 
then  she  trailed  her  dull-blue  draperies  down 
to  a  closer  remonstrance.  "  You  can't  be  seri- 
ous. Your  brother  has  just  appeared — the 
storm  kept  him  awake  all  night — and  has  read 
the  most  alarming  things  in  the  instruments 
in  the  observatory.  I  was  going  to  ask  you 
to  explain  the  barometer  to  me  before  lunch- 
eon." 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry,"  he  assured  her,  cap 
in  hand,  and  she  noticed  from  her  position 
128 


fsle   of 


just  above  him  that  the  rain  was  trickling 
down  his  neck  and  that  his  hair  was  close  and 
fine.  These  things  had  no  direct  bearing 
upon  anything  in  particular,  yet  they  made 
her  fiercely  eager  to  keep  him  with  her — and 
away  from  Katharine — at  any  cost.  But  his 
will  was  adamant. 

Her  plan  of  the  night  watches  occurred  to 
her,  and  she  insisted  upon  it  with  a  charming 
eloquence  of  love  and  duty  and  braving  wrath 
of  weather  for  a  friend's  sake.  But  he  dis- 
missed it  with  a  half  regretful,  half  amused 
manner. 

"  It  would  be  delightful.  But  what  could 
you  wear?  And  now  if  you  will  pardon  this 
desertion  of  a  guest — but  I  know  you  will 
when  you  remember  that  I  may  be  so  fortu- 
nate as  to  reassure  Miss  Merrill  on  the  matter 
which  is  making  her  unhappy — I  will  report 
to  my  mother,  consign  you  to  her  and  to  Jack 
for  the  afternoon,  and  say  good  morning. 
There  is  a  question  of  tide  which  cannot  be 
evaded." 

And  Miss  Emerton  was  left  in  the  wide  hall 
and  to  the  realization  that  she  had  failed,  mis- 
129 


"Uhe   Js/e   of  breams 


erably  failed,  because  of  that  clinging  femi- 
ninity which  she  had  so  long  cultivated  as 
her  greatest  charm  and  asset.  The  elaborate 
gowns  in  which  she  had  put  so  much  trust 
had  proved  her  undoing,  and  she  stood  in 
one  of  the  most  costly  of  them  all  and 
loathed  it. 

Mrs.  Ford  accepted  the  announcement  of 
her  son's  departure  with  her  accustomed 
serenity.  She  had  learned  that  Robert  and 
Captain  Jameson  were  a  match  for  any  phase 
of  weather  of  which  Long  Island  Sound  was 
capable. 

"  Very  well,  dear,  you  know  best,"  she  said 
placidly.  "  But  I  think  you  ought  to  stay  in 
town  unless  the  storm  subsides." 

"  I'm  going,  too,"  Jack  announced,  sudden- 
ly emerging  from  the  depths  of  a  chair  and 
the  paper  of  the  preceding  evening.  "  I'm  not 
going  to  be  left  here  alone." 

"  Of  course  not,"  Robert  replied  pacifically. 
"  You  will  have  mother  and  Miss  Emerton." 

"  I  won't  stay,"  Jack  protested  hotly.  "  I'm 
no  entertainment  committee.  What  do  you 
go  and  ask  girls  here  for  if  you're  going  to 
130 


Ijhe  fslo  of  breams 


vacate  as  soon  as  they  come?  I  have  lots  of 
things  to  do  in  town." 

"  To-morrow,"  his  brother  amended.  "  You 
simply  can't  desert  Miss  Emerton — to-day." 

"  I  can  as  well  as  you.  I'll  go  and  comfort 
the  other.  '  I'll  gaze  in  her  orbits  of  blue/  " 
he  quoted,  "  or  is  it  brown  ?  '  And  her  hand  I 
will  tenderly  squeeze' " 

"Boys,  boys,"  their  mother  admonished 
them  as  though  they  were  little  children, 
"  don't  quarrel.  Jack,  stop  teasing  your 
brother.  Robert — "  but  here  Miss  Emerton 
floated  into  the  room,  and  Jack  subsided, 
though  not  without  one  last  attempt  at  liberty : 

"If  you  want  me  to  go  with  you,  Bob,  old 
chap,"  he  volunteered  with  a  fearful  joviality, 
"  say  the  word." 

"  No,  no,"  protested  Robert,  disregarding 
the  pleading  eyes  fixed  upon  him.  "  You  are 
in  active  charge  here.  Take  care  of  mother. 
Make  Miss  Emerton  happy.  Take  her  to  the 
observatory  and  explain  the  internal  work- 
ings of  such  seafaring  instruments  as  you 
find  there.  Try  to  persuade  her — as  is  indeed 
most  true  " — and  he  turned  with  gentle  cour- 


"She  fsle   of  breams 


tesy  to  Gladys,  "that  we  are  very  happy  to 
have  her  with  us  and  that  we  apologize  for — 
everything." 

So  Jack  and  Gladys  in  the  tower  trained 
field  glasses  and  telescope  upon  the  dory,  and 
watched  its  staggering  progress  toward  the 
shore,  while  the  exile  from  sunny  France,  vis- 
ibly dejected  even  at  that  distance,  ran  the 
mackintoshed  automobile  out  on  the  dock  and 
busied  himself  with  cranks  and  gauges. 

The  little  boat  lurched  against  the  pier  and 
shot  past.  But  now  there  were  only  two  black 
figures  in  it.  The  other  was  running  toward 
the  automobile,  which  was  contributing  clouds 
of  vapor  to  the  general  disturbance. 

' '  Off  again,  on  again,'  "  quoted  Jack,  and 
laid  down  the  glasses. 

"  '  Gone  again/  "  sighed  Gladys,  and  turned 
from  the  telescope.  And  no  one  observed  the 
masterly  seamanship  with  which  Captain 
Jameson  and  the  Boy  beat  and  tacked  and 
buffeted  their  way  back  to  the  Island. 


132 


XI 


OH,  no,  sir,  I'm  afraid  not,  sir,"  said 
Mrs.    Denis    lugubriously.      "  She 
denies  herself  to  all,  this  day." 
"  Perhaps  she  will  make  an  exception  in  my 
case,"  Ford  responded.     "  You  will  at  least 
take  up  my  card." 

"  Oh,  no,  sir,  I  really  can't,"  Mrs.  Denis 
maintained.  "  Miss  Merrill  isn't  well  and  I 
can't  disturb  her." 

"  But,  Mrs.  Denis,"  Robert  began,  with  a 
smile  which  went  straight  to  her  soft  old 
heart  and  won  it,  "  I  know  your  name,  you 
see.  Miss  Merrill  told  me  all  about  you." 

"  Then,  sir,  will  you  step  into  the  reception 
room  for  a  moment.  She  won't  see  you,  that 
I  know,  but  come  in  out  of  the  rain,  an'  I'll 
tell  you  what  I  can." 

Ford    followed   his   portly  guide   into   the 
133 


"Uhe   Ssle   of  breams 


house  which  Katharine  had  declined  to  ex- 
change for  the  elevated  apartment  and  Miss 
Emerton's  constant  society.  He  understood 
her  disinclination  when  he  saw  the  air  of  re- 
pose and  dignity  with  which  even  the  casual 
and  impersonal  reception  room  greeted  the 
stranger,  and  he  knew  that  he  had  found  that 
rara  avis  among  New  York  dwellings,  a  house 
sacred  to  one  family  and  uncontaminated  by 
the  occasional  and  careless  lessee 

Mrs.  Denis,  too,  was  a  rara  avis  among  re- 
tainers. Her  gray  hair  was  smoothly  brushed 
and  surmounted  by  a  lace  cap,  while  her  gown 
and  apron  were  of  rustling  silk.  Not  since  he 
had  visited  friends  in  England  had  he  seen 
anything  like  her.  And  he  was  unaccount- 
ably relieved  and  reassured,  though  he  re- 
flected that  much  of  the  impracticability  of  his 
vanished  guest  was  the  result  of  this  unusual 
environment. 

"  If  she  told  you  my  name,  sir,  it's  likely 
she  told  you  more,"  Mrs.  Denis,  with  sad  dig- 
nity began,  lifting  a  corner  of  her  apron  to  dry 
an  unstarted  tear.  But  discovering  the  apron 
to  be  of  silk,  she  substituted  a  tightly  folded 
134 


"Uhe  <fsle  of  %)reams 


handkerchief  and  continued :  "  She's  told  you, 
maybe,  how  long  I've  watched  over  her  young 
footsteps  and  the  growin'  flowers  of  her  mind, 
but  did  she,  by  word  or  by  deed,  give  you  to 
know  that  I  was  to  be  shut  out — locked  out 
in  the  hall  while  Mrs.  Drummond  held  Ody 
Colone  to  her  nose  an'  was  the  comforter  of 
her  affliction  ?  " 

"  Haven't  you  seen  her  to-day  ?  "  questioned 
Ford  anxiously. 

"  No,  sir ;  not  her,  sir.  But  when  I  carried 
up  her  breakfast  I  seen  her  Wreck,"  and  Mrs. 
Denis  blew  her  nose  with  infinite  care  and 
paused  to  enjoy  the  result  of  this  announce- 
ment before  she  went  on :  "  Pray  be  seated, 
sir.  I'll  tell  you  all,"  and  Robert  obeyed  the 
suggestion. 

"Friday,  but  two  short  suns  ago,  I  packed 
her  for  a  visit  to  go — as  she  said  to  me  in 
her  happy  way — out  to  meet  the  Spring.  I 
misdoubted  something  was  wrong  when  she 
said  she  was  going  with  that  Miss  Emerton. 
I  has  my  eyes,  sir,  an'  I  uses  'em,  an'  I  see  as 
that  young  lady  never  comes  here  without 
wanting  something." 

135 


Sale  of  'Dreams 


"But  tell  me  about  Miss  Merrill?"  Ford 
urged.  "  When  did  she  come  back  ?  " 

"  She  went  away  on  Friday  afternoon," 
Mrs.  Denis  responded,  refusing  to  skip  one 
throb  of  her  narrative,  "  as  happy  an'  as 
beautiful  as  the  dawn — you  consider  her  beau- 
tiful, of  course,  sir?" 

"  Of  course,"  he  acquiesced.  "  Everyone 
must." 

"  Her  mother  was  a  beautiful  woman,"  she 
leisurely  proceeded.  "  An'  she  was  no  older 
than  Miss  Katharine  when  she  went  the  way 
of  all  and  left  that  lamb  in  my  care.  An'  now 
it's  shut  out  in  the  hall  I  am  while  another 
holds  the  Ody  Colone  to  her  nostril !  "  and  she 
dissolved  again  into  moist  self-pity. 

Robert  had  not  braved  the  perils  of  wind  and 
wave  nor  risked  the  lives  of  Captain  Jameson 
and  of  Pierre  to  call  upon  a  garrulous  old  wom- 
an. Yet  he  accepted  the  situation  with  a  grace 
which  did  as  much  credit  to  his  cleverness  as 
to  his  kindness.  Such  an  ally  as  this  would 
be  of  infinite  value  to  his  cause,  and  mean- 
while he  was  at  least  in  Katharine's  house  and 
talking  to  the  person  who  had  known  her 
136 


"Uho  Ssle  of  breams 


longest  and  who  loved  her  most.  Encouraged 
by  his  attention  Mrs.  Denis  grew  biograph- 
ical of  her  charge  and  instructed  Ford  in  the 
intricacies  and  treatment  of  measles  and 
boasted  of  her  sure  cure  for  chickenpox.  He 
learned  that  to  appreciate  true  and  angelic 
patience  he  should  have  beheld  Miss  Kath- 
arine languishing  under  these  and  other  dis- 
orders, but  "  brought  out  of  them,  praise  be 
to  God,  with  not  so  much  as  a  pound  off  her, 
nor  a  mark  to  show  she  had  'em."  The  mem- 
ory of  these  happy  days  made  her  present 
ignominious  position,  "  shut  out,  sir,  while 
another  holds  her  head  and  the  Ody  Colone," 
all  the  harder  to  bear.  She  had,  still  with  the 
keenest  enjoyment  of  her  woes  and  wrongs, 
reduced  the  handkerchief  to  a  limp  useless- 
ness  long  before  her  remarks  grew  modern 
enough  to  refer  again  to  the  events  of  the  last 
few  days. 

"  In  the  flower  of  her  youth  and  beauty,  sir, 
she  left  us  on  Friday,  an'  last  night  she  come 
back  a  Wreck.  And  to  me,  pressing  for  some 
explanation,  she  only  says,  an'  weeps  in  the 
sayin' :  '  Denis,  you'd  never  understand.  You 
137 


"Uho  fste  of  ^Dreams 


couldn't  understand.'  But  I  understand 
enough  to  know,  sir,  that  she's  an  angel  from 
above,  and  that  them  as  injures  her  is  fiends 
an'  will  reap  the  rewards  of  such." 

Here  were  Captain  Jameson's  sentiments  in 
another  form,  Robert  reflected,  and  knew 
that  this  time  he  could  offer  no  explanation. 
Katharine  had  been  right,  and  Mrs.  Denis 
would  not  understand.  He  felt  a  great  deal 
less  than  frank  as  he  rose  to  take  his  leave. 

"  Will  you  say  to  Miss  Merrill  that  I  called, 
that  I  deeply  regret  her  indisposition,  and  that 
I  trust  she  will  be  so  kind  as  to  see  me  at 
eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

"  At  eleven  o'clock,  sir,"  she  repeated  care- 
fully. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  he.  "  Good  afternoon, 
and  thank  you." 

Mrs.  Denis,  with  a  grand  air,  accompanied 
him  to  the  door,  and  ushered  him  out  to  the 
still  vindictive  weather  and  his  waiting  han- 
som. When  he  had  quite  disappeared  she 
turned  back  into  the  house  with  a  new  con- 
tentment. 

"  To-morrow  at  eleven,"  she  communed, 
138 


"Uhe  fsle  of  breams 


"  is  a  sweet  hour  for  a  tryst.  I  suppose  she'll 
see  him  in  the  studio.  I  must  get  a  flower  or 
two  in  the  morning."  And  she  fell  to  plan- 
ning all  sorts  of  aids  and  accessories  to  this 
important  interview  as  happily  as  though  she 
had  never  dreaded  "the  bold,  free,  striking 
writing  of  a  man,"  and  all  the  ills  it  might 
portend. 


10 


139 


XII 

HMOST   beautiful    gentleman,    Miss 
Katharine,    dear,"    Mrs.   Denis   re- 
ported,  when  she  had   at  last  ob- 
tained audience  with  her  nursling,  "  and  with  a 
beautiful  smile  and  the  most  beautiful  clothes 
upon   him.     His   heart   was    in    his    eyes    as 
he    says :      '  To-morrow    at   eleven.'      Here's 
his  card  with  the  tryst  wrote  upon  it  in  his 
own  hand.     The   shakes   is   caused  by   feel- 
ings." 

"  Thank  you,  Denis,  dear,"  replied  Kath- 
arine wearily.  She  took  the  card  and  read  it 
with  no  visible  emotion,  and  then  quite  calmly 
tore  it  in  two  and  threw  its  fragments  into  the 
fire. 

"  At  eleven,  you  say  he  will  be  here  ?  I'm 
glad  to  know  that." 

"  Strong  in  hopes,"  added  the  shocked  Mrs. 
140 


fsle  of  7)reams 


Denis,  "  as  you  will  be  well  enough  to  see 
him." 

"  I  expect  to  be  entirely  well  long  before 
then.  In  fact,  there's  not  much  wrong  with 
me  now,"  protested  Kate,  and  with  the  un- 
grateful intention  of  getting  rid  of  Denis's 
solicitude  and  her  panegyrics  upon  the  beau- 
tiful young  gentleman  she  feigned  an  interest 
in  the  day's  menu.  It  was  an  unfailing 
method  of  banishing  Denis,  and  one  to  which 
Katharine  and  the  Drummonds  unblushingly 
resorted.  Mrs.  Denis  was  convinced  that 
without  the  inspiration  of  her  constant  pres- 
ence and  watchfulness  "that  young  gurrl," 
as  she  described  each  succeeding  servant  of 
whatever  age  and  duty,  would  lay  ignorant 
hands  upon  the  commissariat  and  "  poison  us 
all  with  noxious  viands." 

So  Denis  trotted  off  to  the  kitchen  and 
Katharine  summoned  Carrie  to  hear  of  how 
the  enemy  had  stormed  the  citadel,  carried  the 
outworks,  and  made  an  unprotesting  prisoner 
of  the  garrison  of  one. 

And  Denis  did  not  see  her  "  lamb  "  again 
until  the  succeeding  Wednesday  morning, 
141 


Ssle  of  %)reams 


when  she  was  hurried  into  a  cab  and  driven 
to  the  White  Star  dock.  There  Katharine, 
with  many  remorseful  speeches  and  embraces, 
informed  her  old  nurse  that  she  was  going 
away,  but  tempered  the  surprise  by  assurances 
of  a  swift  return. 

"  And  you  will  take  care  of  everything  for 
me,  won't  you  Denis,  dear?  "  she  charged  her. 
"  And  be  good  to  the  Drummonds,  and  don't 
let  the  babies  forget  me.  Let  everything  go 
on  as  it  has.  I'll  send  you  a  cheque  at  the 
first  of  every  month.  If  you  want  to  write 
to  me  use  the  old  address  of  the  Paris  bank. 
But  almost  before  you  have  time  to  miss  me, 
I  shall  be  back  again.  And,  oh,  I'm  going  to 
miss  you  all  so !  For  I  love  you,  Denis,  dear. 
I  love  you." 

The  emotional  Denis  was  swamped  in  tears, 
astonishment,  sorrow,  and  reproachfulness, 
and  did  not  reach  the  surface  of  articulate 
speech  until  she  was  back  in  the  deserted 
house  and  the  Celtic  was  far  beyond  the 
Statue  of  Liberty.  Only  Mrs.  Drummond  re- 
mained to  listen  to  her  bewailings  and  to  her 
perplexity  as  to  what  she  could  say  to  "the 
142 


Sale  of  ^Dreams 


beautiful  gentleman  "  who  had  called  thrice 
within  three  days. 

"  If  you  mean  Mr.  Ford,"  said  Carrie  dark- 
ly, "  I  will  see  him,  if  you  like,  and  explain 
things  to  him.  I'd  really  rather  like  it,  I 
think." 

"  Oh,  will  you,  ma'am !  "  cried  Denis.  "  He 
was  here  on  Sunday,  an'  the  sufferin'  dear 
wouldn't  see  him.  I  give  her  his  card  with  a 
few  words  written  on  it  in  a  shakin'  hand. 
There  in  that  very  chair  she  set  an'  wep,  and 
she  tears  up  the  card  an'  throws  it  in  the  fire." 

Later  in  the  afternoon  as  Carrie  was  sitting 
in  the  big,  disordered  studio,  Mrs.  Denis  an- 
nounced Ford's  arrival. 

"  He's  below,  ma'am,  dear,"  she  whispered, 
though  two  doors,  a  flight  of  stairs,  and  sev- 
eral corridors  lay  between  her  and  detection. 
"  Mr.  Ford,  strong  in  his  young  hopes,  is 
below." 

"  Bring  him  up,"  laughed  Carrie  mischie- 
vously. "  I'll  see  him." 

"  Do,  ma'am,  and  ease  his  mind.  Yesterday 
he  was  terrible  put  out " 

"  Then  it  would  be  only  kind  to  let  him  in 
143 


Z>he  Ssle   of  Ereams 


to-day,"  Mrs.  Drummond  suggested.  "  Ask 
him  to  come  to  Miss  Merrill's  studio." 

"  Where  is  Miss  Merrill  ?  "  Ford  demanded 
after  the  curtest  of  greetings  had  been  ex- 
changed. 

"  I  really  can't  tell  you,"  said  Carrie,  very 
small  and  indignant  in  her  Savonarola  chair. 
"  Ever  since  her  very  enlightening  visit  to 
your  Island,  we  have  been  packing.  She  left 
to-day." 

"  Where  did  she  go  ?  "  asked  Ford,  consult- 
ing his  watch. 

"I  don't  know,"  Carrie  admitted  weakly, 
but  added  vindictively,  "  and  if  I  did  I  should 
hardly  tell  you.  Your  interference  has  done 
quite  enough  of  harm.  You've  broken  her 
pride  and  her  spirit ;  you've  broken  everything 
but  her  ambition." 

"  We  will  discuss  that  later.  At  present  I 
want  to  ask  you  some  questions  which  your 
— energy — leads  me  to  think  you  can  answer. 
Will  you  tell  me  whether  Miss  Merrill's  pecul- 
iar manner  toward  myself  is  caused  by  genius 
or  by  pique  ?  " 

"  And  I  refuse  to  answer  so  rude  and  heart  - 
144 


Ss/ff  of  'Dreams 


less  a  question.  By  what  right  do  you  ask  it  ? 
Haven't  you  done  her  enough  injury?  " 

"  There  seems  to  be  a  sort  of  consolidated 
misunderstanding  on  this  point,"  said  Ford 
calmly,  "  and  with  your  permission — or  even 
without  any  cordial  expression  of  it — I  shall 
explain  the  matter  to  you.  I  am  fond  of  pic- 
tures. I  am  not  an  artist,  but  I  have  traveled 
widely,  have  haunted  every  picture  gallery  of 
interest  in  Europe,  and  know  something  of 
Oriental  art  as  well.  I  trust  I  don't  bore  you." 

"  Oh,  no,"  Mrs.  Drummond  murmured  po- 
litely, and  in  truth  he  did  not,  for  she  was 
absorbed  in  the  details,  not  of  his  biography, 
but  of  his  costume.  How,  she  wondered,  did 
he  manage  to  be  so  utterly  correct  without 
being  aggravating. 

"  It  is  now  some  years  since  I  found  and 
bought  a  picture  called  '  The  Isle  of  Dreams,' 
by  Katharine  Merrill.  You  know  it,  of 
course?" 

"  I  never  chanced  to  see  it,  but  she  often 

spoke  of  it  and  wondered  where  it  was.    She 

used  to  talk  of  the  way  in  which  her  things 

dropped  out  of  sight.     She  could  sometimes 

145 


of  B 


trace  them  through  two  or  three  changes  in 
ownership,  but  after  that  she  always  lost  them. 
Of  course,  we  know  the  reason  now,  and  she 
might  have  guessed  it  earlier  if  she  had  not 
been  so  busy  and  proud  and  happy.  She  owes 
you  a  great  deal — both  ways." 

"Well,  I  fell  in  love  with  'The  Isle  of 
Dreams '  and  set  out  to  collect  more  of  the 
artist's  work.  There  is  such  an  air  of  author- 
ity and  maturity  in  everything  I  found  that  I 
took  it  for  granted  that  she  was  a  woman  of 
middle  age,  and  thought  the  few  canvases  my 
dealer  succeeded  in  securing  for  me  to  be  but 
a  very  insignificant  part  of  her  entire  work. 
On  Saturday  night  I  learned  the  truth  under 
circumstances  which  I  can  never  sufficiently 
deplore.  I  was  a  brute." 

"Oh,  no,  how  could  you  know?"  urged 
Carrie,  making  strange  use  of  her  coveted  few 
uninterrupted  moments  with  Robert  Ford. 

"  I  failed  then  to  make  her  understand  my 
position,  and  I  have  since  failed  three  times  to 
find  her  when  I  called.  I  intend  to  see  her. 
Can  I  persuade  you  now  to  tell  me  where 
she  is?" 

146 


Sslo  of  %)roams 


"Off  Fire  Island,"  answered  Mrs.  Drum- 
mond  forlornly.  "Gone  away  and  no  one 
knows  where  she  is.  I  am  to  send  letters  to 
her  bankers  in  Paris,  and  none  of  her  other 
friends  know  even  so  much.  She's  going  to 
some  far-away  village  to  sketch  and  paint  and 
work  until  she  gets  a  medal  or  so,  a  picture  in 
the  Salon,  and  some  of  the  fame  you've  im- 
prisoned in  that  gallery  of  yours." 

Robert  took  a  meditative  stroll  through  the 
room,  and  Carrie,  watching  him  with  careful 
and  appraising  eyes,  found  herself  suddenly 
sorry  for  him,  though  there  was  no  bid  for 
sympathy  in  his  expression  or  in  his  carriage. 
Neither  did  his  next  remark  sound  helpless. 

"  There  is  no  immediate  need  for  communi- 
cating with  her  either  by  letter  or  in  person, 
though  both  could,  of  course,  be  managed. 
When  we  have  made  some  progress  in  the 
arrangement  of  her  affairs  we  will  report  to 
her.  May  I  ask  you  to  reproduce  as  nearly 
as  possible  her  mental  condition  when  she 
left?  You  and  she,  of  course,  discussed  the 
part  I  had  taken  in  her  affairs.  In  what  way 
have  I  injured  her  ?  " 

147 


Ssle   of  'Dreams 


"  Well,  in  several  ways.  But  most  of  all 
I  should  say  you  have  destroyed  her  self-con- 
fidence. She  considered  herself — we  all  con- 
sidered her — an  artist  of  established  reputa- 
tion, well  known  and  appreciated ;  almost,  in 
a  limited  field,  famous.  You  understand  how 
the  delusion  arose  and  how  it  grew." 

"  Perfectly,"  he  answered  gravely.  "  And 
my  further  injury?  " 

"  Was  to  her  self-respect.  We  are  all  proud 
to  make  the  big  impersonal  Public  our  banker. 
We  take  its  money  proudly  and  we  spend  it  gay- 
ly.  No  income  inherited  from  dead  relatives  or 
shared  by  living  ones  ever  seems  so  absolutely 
and  irresponsibly  our  own  as  the  Public's  pay- 
ment for  the  Public's  pleasure.  Actors  and 
painters  and  singers  and  writers  will  all  tell 
you  this.  Well,  Katharine  has  learned  that 
she  lived  and  dressed,  and  played  and  learned, 
not  by  the  generosity  of  this  open-handed,  un- 
exacting  Public,  but  by  the  generosity  of  Rob- 
ert Ford.  She  has  thought  out  the  situation 
in  all  sorts  of  bearings,  and  she  has  decided 
first  to  make  her  name  known  in  the  picture 
world  via  the  Paris  Salon  and  the  English 
148 


Z/Aff  Ssie  of  'Dreams 


and  American  exhibitions,  and  then  to  repay 
you  what  she  can." 

"  In  what  length  of  time  does  she  intend  to 
accomplish  this  ? " 

"  It  will  take  a  long,  long  time.  Just  her 
foreign  work  will  take  at  least  a  year." 

"  And  during  this  year  what  is  my  role 
to  be  ?  Were  you  so  good  as  to  settle  that  for 
me?"  he  asked  with  a  smile. 

"  You  will  please  do  nothing,"  Carrie  com- 
manded. "  There  is,  in  fact,  nothing  for  you 
to  do." 

"  And  I  have  never,"  said  Robert  Ford, 
"been  in  the  habit  of  doing  nothing  by  the 
year." 


149 


XIII 

[ATHARINE  MERRILL  was  suf- 
fering meanwhile  in  the  hard-won 
solitude  of  her  cabin  as  she  had 
not  before  found  time  to  do.  The  few  days 
which  intervened  between  her  enlightenment 
on  the  Island  and  the  sailing  of  the  Celtic 
had  afforded  no  leisure  for  dejection  and  tears, 
even  if  such  weakness  had  not  been  impossible 
in  the  brave  and  championing  society  of  Car- 
rie Drummond. 

But  when  she  had  bestowed  her  well-worn 
traveling  necessaries  in  their  proper  places, 
when  she  had  interviewed  the  deck  steward 
and  chartered  a  chair,  when  she  had  studied 
the  passenger  list  and  rejoiced  to  find  no  fa- 
miliar name  upon  it,  when  she  had  wandered 
through  the  floral  display  in  the  saloon  and 
had  restored  three  lost  and  howling  young- 
150 


Sale  of 


sters  to  their  lost  and  helpless  nurses — then 
she  realized  that  even  the  physical  preoccupa- 
tions of  sea  sickness  may  be  preferable  to  the 
psychical  preoccupations  of  self-pity  and  self- 
reviling,  and  abandoned  herself  to  misery  of 
a  lonely,  introspective  sort.  There  was  noth- 
ing but  thinking  to  do,  and  no  one  to  protect 
her  from  the  conclusion  to  which  that  thinking 
led. 

She  was  a  failure.  All  her  years  of  effort 
and  of  work,  all  her  years  of  unchanging 
devotion  and  proud  sacrifice  culminated  in 
this.  She  had  decorated  an  obscure  room  on 
an  uncharted  island  belonging  to  an  unknown 
man. 

Hour  after  hour  she  lay  in  her  stateroom 
and  marveled  at  her  past  stupidity.  Why  had 
she  never  followed  the  adventures  of  her  pic- 
tures after  their  first  purchase  ?  Many  of  her 
friends  kept  careful  record  of  their  work,  en- 
tered its  vicissitudes  and  changes  of  owner- 
ship in  little  books  devoted  to  that  use,  knew 
the  cities,  houses,  galleries,  and  museums 
which  held  their  pictures.  But  she,  blind  fool, 
had  never  done  this.  She  had  preferred  her 


i0  fsle   of  7)reams 


"  Big  Impersonal  Public  "  to  a  cold  list  of  in- 
dividuals or  institutions.  "  A  fool,"  she 
fretted,  as  she  buried  her  hot  cheek  in  the 
cooler  side  of  her  pillow  and  waved  away  the 
ministrations  of  the  stewardess,  "a  motley, 
conceited  fool!" 

The  stewardess  persisted.  The  day  was 
fine.  The  young  lady  had  not  left  her  room 
for  nearly  two  days.  "  An'  the  hair,  miss, 
hon  the  deck  will  do  you  good  'owever  hill 
you  feel.  Let  me  dress  you,  do  now,  and 
steward  shall  'elp  you  hup." 

The  woman  was  kindly,  and  her  suggestion 
sensible.  Katharine  adopted  it,  though  she 
declined  the  proffered  "  'elp,"  and  Mrs.  Denis, 
at  home  in  the  house  which  was  always  empty 
to  her  when  her  nursling  was  not  in  it,  would 
have  been  torn  between  pride  and  sorrow  if 
she  could  have  known  how  dreadfully  that 
nursling  missed  the  touch  of  her  loving  old 
hands  and  the  refuge  of  her  faithful  ad- 
miration. For  dressing  is  but  a  thankless 
and  uninteresting  work  when  there  is  no 
one  to  assist  at  the  process  or  care  for 
the  result. 

152 


fsle  of  breams 


The  glare  and  cheer  of  the  deck  were  even 
more  trying  when  Katharine  at  last  reached 
that  sunny  pandemonium  of  quoits,  flirtations, 
babies,  books,  pedestrians,  bean  bags,  mal-de- 
mer,  and  shuffleboard.  Her  rugs  were  con- 
signed to  the  deck  steward  under  whose 
admiring  care  she  had  often  traveled  but 
who  ventured  now  to  suggest  "  a  very  dry 
broiled  chop  and  a  glass  of  dry  champagne, 
miss,"  and  who  shook  his  head  in  sympathetic 
incredulity  when  Katharine  explained  that  she 
was  only  tired,  not  ill. 

"  Oh,  no,  miss ;  of  course  not,  miss,"  he 
respectfully  agreed  as  he  established  her  in 
her  chair.  "  But,  if  you'll  allow  me  to  suggest 
it,  you'll  eat  much  better  up  here  in  the  air 
than  if  you  went  down  to  the  stuffy  saloon. 
Shall  I  order  that  little  snack  I  described  to 
you,  miss,  for  your  luncheon?" 

"  If  you  will,"  said  Miss  Merrill  listlessly. 
"Thank  you,  yes.  I  should  rather  not  go 
down." 

So  she  lay  among  her  wrappings  long  hour 
after  hour  and,  once  the  gayest  of  holiday 
makers,  watched  the  gayety  all  about  her  with 
153 


"Uhe  Sale  of  'Dreams 


lack-luster  eyes.  Occasionally  one  of  the 
ship's  officers,  recognizing  her,  stopped  and 
spoke.  Her  neighbors  to  right  and  left  prof- 
fered a  remark  and  a  magazine,  but  she  was 
left,  save  for  these  fleeting  interruptions,  to 
a  depression  which  grew  steadily  more 
unbearable. 

For  here  were  sky  and  sea  and  sunshine, 
empty  day  after  empty  day.  Here  were 
sunsets,  too,  and  all  things  nautical.  Here 
were  even  light-hearted  men  and  maids  in 
yachting  array,  just  as  there  had  been  on  her 
last  day  among  her  dreams.  Not  a  word  or 
incident  of  that  day  escaped  her,  and  there 
was  hardly  one  to  which  she  could  look  back 
without  humiliation  and  regret.  Beginning 
with  the  duplicating  conversations  on  the  sea 
wall,  she  had  gone  merrily  through  blunder 
after  blunder,  stupidity  after  stupidity  until 
she  had  ended  in  tears,  vituperation,  and 
flight,  "  just  like  an  hysterical  schoolgirl  or 
the  leading  lady  in  a  melodrama,"  she  jeered. 
"  And  you  let  him  know  and  pity  you !  What 
good  can  his  pity  do  you,  you  coward;  you 
spiritless,  prideless  Thing ! "  and  Mrs.  Denis 
154 


fsle  of  breams 


might  have  scented  "  a  dangerous  looking 
sign  "  in  the  use  of  the  pronoun  without  its 
antecedent. 

The  happier  portions  of  that  day  made  no 
more  pleasant  memory.  All  the  gay  badinage 
which  had  enlivened  the  hours  spent  in  the 
Katrinka  took  on  a  horrible  significance  in  the 
light  of  the  evening's  discovery.  The  part  of 
all  her  wholly  inexcusable  conduct  which 
seemed  most  inexcusable  and  inexplicable  was 
that  gayly  enough  and  thoughtlessly — but  ac- 
curately withal — she  had  furnished  Ford  with 
the  essentials  of  her  biography.  Her  early 
life,  her  loneliness,  Denis,  her  work,  her  ambi- 
tion, her  pride,  and  her  success.  He  knew 
about  them  all  and  what  each  had  meant  to 
her.  Even  little  incidents  and  habits  of  her 
daily  life  she  had  described  to  him,  and  the 
joy  with  which  she  lived  it !  Her  very  clothes 
had  not  escaped,  and  she  had  let  him  know 
that  she  had  dressed  and  played  and  lived  upon 
his  largesse.  She  had  told  him  about  the  bed 
in  the  Babies'  Hospital !  a  thing  which  no  one 
— not  even  Carrie  Drummond — had  known. 
There  must  have  been  some  witchery  in  the 
11  155 


"Uhe  fsle  of  *Dr earns 


day  or  in  the  air.  She  had  never  talked  to 
anyone  as  she  had  to  that  slow-smiling,  quick- 
seeing  Robert  Ford.  And  what  must  he  have 
thought  of  her  outbreak  about  Fame !  Of 
course  it  was  bathos,  pure  bathos,  and  he  had 
encouraged — even  abetted — her  in  it.  How  he 
must  have  laughed  about  it  afterwards ! 

But  even  in  her  sore  resentment  she  knew 
this  to  be  unjust.  She  remembered  his  con- 
cern when  she  had  told  him — as  she  would 
have  given  worlds  not  to  have  told  him — 
that  all  her  pictures  were  also  his.  Of  course 
he  might  have  regarded  them  simply  from  a 
commercial  standpoint  and  have  been  dis- 
mayed to  find  them  practically  worthless. 
But  he  had  shown  no  trace  of  such  considera- 
tion in  the  short  few  moments  in  the  hall  on 
that  nightmare  night,  nor  had  his  persistent  at- 
tempts to  find  her  at  her  own  home,  as  senti- 
mentally reported  by  Denis,  indicated  that  he 
regarded  her  as  in  any  way  responsible  for 
the  fiasco  or  even  that  he  considered  the  cir- 
cumstances in  that  lamentable  light. 

If  only  she  had  been  warned  or  prepared, 
ever  so  indefinitely,  she  might  have  held  her- 
156 


of  ftreams 


self  in  better  control:  might  have  carried  the 
situation  so  differently ;  might  have  suffered 
chagrin,  disappointment,  injury,  and  humilia- 
tion silently  and  proudly;  might  have  spared 
herself  the  paralyzing  consciousness  that  he 
was  sorry  for  her.  In  all  the  lesser  trials  of 
her  life  she  had  asked  and  accepted  pity  from 
no  one,  and  now  she  knew  herself  to  be  the 
object  of  pity  to  the  man  to  whom  she  owed 
her  comfort,  her  home,  her  very  income. 

And  his  enlightenment  in  no  way  helped  in 
her  design.  It  would  have  been  better  to  have 
left  him  in  the  placid  enjoyment  of  the  erro- 
neous value  he  set  upon  his  property  until  she 
had  done  all  that  could  be  done  to  make  his 
valuation  the  true  one.  It  would  have  been 
the  work  of  years,  even  under  the  most  favor- 
able stars,  but  it  would  still  have  been  pos- 
sible. Only  she  had  known  the  exact  number 
of  her  canvases ;  only  she  could  have  betrayed 
their  worthlessness,  and  only  she  had  done  it. 
She  could  imagine  the  avidity  with  which  the 
studio  tea  tables  and  club  lunch  rooms  would 
fall  upon  the  tidings  that  Katharine  Merrill, 
the  aloof,  the  haughty,  the  domestically  in- 
157 


fsle  of  'Dreams 


clined,  was  that  worst  of  pretenders  in  the 
court  of  Art,  a  one  man's  fad.  From  the 
studios  the  news  would  spread  to  the  papers, 
from  them  to  the  dealers,  from  them  to  "  the 
Great  Impersonal  Public,"  which  she  had  for 
so  long  held  in  grateful  regard,  but  which 
would  then  be  hearing  her  name  for  the  first 
time. 

She  could  do  nothing  to  avert  the  catas- 
trophe. She  was  completely  in  Robert  Ford's 
power,  and  Carrie  Drummond  was  not  there 
to  suggest  that  she  had  so  been  any  time  dur- 
ing the  past  four  or  five  years,  and  had  pros- 
pered and  been  happy  in  it,  and  to  recom- 
mend that  he  be  trusted  to  guard  what  was  his 
only  the  more  carefully  for  knowing  that  it 
was  all  his. 

The  steward,  much  concerned,  brought  and 
administered  his  panacea  twice  a  day  through- 
out the  remaining  space  of  the  voyage.  The 
stewardess  carried  out  a  treatment  of  her  own 
devising  at  breakfast  time.  The  officers  were 
cordial,  introductions  inevitable,  and  Kath- 
arine young  and  neither  ill  favored  nor  ill 
mannered.  But  not  all  these  antidotes  to 
158 


"Uhe  fste  of  ^Dreams 


melancholy  could  keep  her  from  returning, 
time  after  time,  to  the  darkest  shadow  in  the 
Valley  of  Humiliation — her  doubt  of  her 
own  talent.  Had  she  the  power,  she  asked 
herself,  to  force  recognition  from  the  world? 
Could  she  rely  upon  the  verdict  of  the  preju- 
diced Drummonds,  the  uncritical  Ford,  or  the 
casual  writer  of  art  reviews  and  notices  ?  Fel- 
low students,  fellow  exhibitors,  teachers,  and 
fellow  artists  had  been  kind.  But  these  were 
poor  substitutes  for  the  growing  mass  of  pub- 
lic appreciation  upon  which  she  had  so  mis- 
takenly rested.  And  to  all  other  torments  of 
spirit  these  reflections  added  fear. 

Shaken  in  self-esteem  and  lonely  beyond 
tears  she  at  last  reached  the  little  fishing  town 
which  was  to  be  the  scene  of  a  struggle  which 
only  high  hope,  indomitable  courage,  and  se- 
cure self-confidence  could  carry  to  success. 
And  Fate  and  Ford  had  beggared  her. 

She  was  greeted  vociferously  by  her  old 
friend  and  landlady,  and  courteously  by  the 
blushing  fisherman  son  of  the  house  whom 
she  remembered  as  a  tow-headed  urchin  much 
given  to  the  shy  commencements  of  conversa- 
159 


Jsle  of  Breams 


tion  but  always  overcome  at  his  own  temerity 
after  the  two  first  remarks.  She  climbed  to 
the  little  room  which  had  been  hers  and  was 
amazed  to  find  it  quite  unchanged  by  all  the 
changing  years.  Even  the  view  from  the  lit- 
tle window  was  the  same,  and  she  caught  her 
breath  sharply  as  she  turned  to  it.  And 
straightway  all  her  hope  and  courage  and 
strength  came  surging  back  to  her.  For  out 
beyond  the  squat  shipping  and  blunt  docks  of 
the  harbor,  out  under  the  perfect  sky,  violet 
cliffed,  soft  wooded,  and  beautiful  beyond  all 
remembering,  the  original  Island  of  Dreams 
lay  on  its  placid  waters  waiting  to  welcome 
her. 


160 


XIV 

OESPITE  Ford's  energetic  protesta- 
tion against  a  year's  idleness  he 
seemed,  as  the  months  went  by,  to 
be  blessed  with  unlimited  leisure.  He  found 
time  to  lay  siege  to  the  sympathy  and  friend- 
ship of  the  elder  Drummond,  and  the  Misses 
Drummond  adored  him  from  the  first.  Doris 
Gwendolin  Patricia  accepted  him  with  enthu- 
siasm, and  Denis  regarded  him  as  a  being  sent 
straight  from  heaven  or  the  nearest  public 
library. 

It  was  she  who  instituted  and  maintained 
the  rule  that  he  should  be  ushered  straight  to 
Miss  Merrill's  studio,  and  that  the  Drum- 
monds  should  be  notified  of  his  presence  only 
when  he  so  desired.  And  he  spent  many  an 
afternoon  hour  alone  or  with  only  Doris  Gwen- 
dolin Patricia  to  bear  him  company  in  the  big, 
161 


Ssle  of  ^Dreams 


dim  room  in  which  he  had  never  seen  Kath- 
arine Merrill,  but  in  which,  nevertheless,  he 
could  always  see  her  clearly. 

Mrs.  Denis  watched  over  him  with  a  devo- 
tion only  less  than  that  with  which  she  yearned 
for  her  nursling,  and  she  always  reported 
these  solitary  vigils  to  Mrs.  Drummond. 

"  The  beautiful  gentleman  was  here  to-day, 
ma'am,"  she  would  impart  in  bronchial  whis- 
perings. "  His  offerings  to  the  empty  shrine 
was  roses,  sweet  flowers  of  love;  and  last 
month  it  was  daffydills.  His  heart  gets 
warmer,  ma'am,  with  the  weather.  So  it  ever 
was  with  Denis,  as  the  seasons  rolled."  And 
Carrie,  sitting  often  in  the  empty  shrine, 
would  wonder  and  dream  and  sigh.  But  at 
the  last  she  always  smiled. 

On  the  days  when  foreign  mails  might  be 
expected  Robert  Ford  might  be  expected  also. 
Then  would  he  and  the  ladies  of  the  Drum- 
mond family — with  sometimes  the  much- 
starched  addition  of  Doris  Gwendolin  Patricia 
— have  tea  in  the  studio ;  and  he  would  then, 
sitting  gravely  in  the  Savonarola  chair  and 
protecting  his  scarf  pin  from  the  onslaughts  of 
162 


"Uhe  Ssfo  of  'Dreams 


the  younger  of  the  Misses  Drummond,  whose 
devotion  to  him  was  only  equaled  by  his  pas- 
sion for  them,  listen  to  the  excerpts  from  Miss 
Merrill's  correspondence  with  which  Mrs. 
Drummond,  with  shockingly  little  compunc- 
tion, entertained  him. 

"  And  listen  to  this,"  she  superfluously  en- 
treated on  a  day  when  every  faculty  of  his 
was  concentrated  upon  the  letter  in  her  hand, 
"  just  listen  to  this  " : 

" '  It  occurs  to  me  that,  since  Tom  knows 
him,  you  may  meet  Robert  Ford.  Don't  let 
my  experience  prejudice  you  against  him,  and 
don't  quite  take  him  at  Denis's  valuation.  I 
remember  that,  before  I  saw  his  pictures,  I 
thought  him  more  than  usually  bearable;  but 
she  has  deified  him.  Be  careful  not  to  men- 
tion me  to  him  nor  to  tell  him  anything  about 
my  plans.' " 

"How  does  that  affect  you?"  asked  Mrs. 
Drummond. 

"  I  feel  like  a  Nihilist,"  he  answered  with 

a  slight  catch  in  his  voice,   due  perhaps  to 

emotion,   perhaps  to  the  sudden  planting  in 

the  midst  of  his  faultless  waistcoat  of  the  fat 

163 


ZfAff   Sslo   of  breams 

pink  slippers  of  the  younger  Miss  Drum- 
mond. 

' '  There  is  something/ "  she  read  on, 
"  '  wrong  about  the  men  one  meets  away  from 
home.  They  are  never  quite  and  entirely  as 
one  feels  they  ought  to  be.  Is  it  that  men, 
when  they  are  charming,  don't  travel?  Or  is 
it  that  men,  when  they  are  traveling,  aren't 
charming? ' ' 

"  Now,  O  confessed  globe  trotter,"  Carrie 
asked,  "  how  does  that  make  you  feel  ?  " 

"  Much  worse,  thank  you,"  he  blandly  lied. 
He  was  quite  content  to  be  mentioned  or  re- 
membered at  all  in  a  life  as  busy  as  that  out 
of  which  Katharine  sent  these  letters. 

She  was  working  desperately,  she  wrote, 
but  she  felt  that  she  was  accomplishing  much. 
A  picture  for  the  Paris  Salon  was  well  under 
way,  and  another  for  the  London  Academy 
was  beginning  to  take  form.  There  were 
always  messages  to  Denis  and  to  Mr.  Drum- 
mond,  and  always  prayers  and  entreaties  that 
the  babies  should  not  be  allowed  to  forget 
their  absent  but  devoted  Aunt  Katharine. 

As  time  passed  and  her  confidence  grew, 
164 


fslo  of  breams 


she  trusted  herself  to  send  a  message  to  Ford. 
"Get  Tom  to  tell  him,"  it  ran,  "not  to  sell 
those  pictures  unless  he  has  already  done  so. 
If  these  plans  of  mine  should  carry  they  may, 
after  all,  be  worth  something.  Tom  needn't 
go  into  details  of  course,  but  simply  advise 
him  to  wait  before  disposing  of  them." 

But  Ford  did  not  profit  by  this  sage  advice. 
Rather  it  seemed  to  worry  him  when  Carrie 
imparted  it.  They  were  all  on  the  Island.  It 
was  late  August,  and  Captain  Jameson,  closely 
followed  by  Doris  Gwendolin  Patricia,  had 
arrived  with  the  letters  just  as  Bertha  and 
tea  appeared.  The  Misses  Drummond  flut- 
tered white  among  the  roses  and  butterflies, 
and  Mrs.  Ford  was  discoursing  softly  at  the 
piano  in  the  cool  dimness  of  the  music  room. 

"  Does  she  say  anything  of  the  date  of  her 
return  ?  "  asked  Ford.  "  I  trust  she  has  not 
changed  her  plan  of  staying  at  least  a  year." 

"  You  don't  want  her  to  come  home ! "  ex- 
claimed Carrie  with  an  indignation  which 
nearly  precipitated  her  from  her  deck  chair  to 
the  stones  of  the  terrace.  "You  don't  want 
to  see  her !  I'm  surprised  at  you !  " 
165 


fsle  of  ^Dreams 


"  Not  for  a  year  at  least.  I'm  not  carry- 
ing out  your  instructions  about  doing  noth- 
ing, you  see,  and  I'm  very  busy  about  this 
name  and  fame  of  hers." 

"  Tom,"  cried  his  dutiful  wife.  "  Do  you 
hear?  Wake  up,  dear,  and  conspire." 

"  I'm  not  asleep,"  Drummond  retorted,  and 
showed  his  still  lighted  cigar  in  corrobora- 
tion.  "  I  am  preparing  an  obituary  for  you 
to  present  to  Denis  when  you  have  allowed 
Doris  Gwendolin  Patricia  to  be  drowned. 
She  is  never  out  of  the  boats." 

"  Nor  away  from  Captain  Jameson,"  Carrie 
supplemented,  "  and  Mrs.  Denis  would  be  the 
last  to  object.  She  is  very  romantic  on  the 
subject  of  the  captain,  and  looks  forward  to 
his  visits  as  events.  '  Seafaring  gentlemen,' 
she  told  me  the  other  day,  '  improves  the  man- 
ners and  broadens  the  minds  of  us  all.'  He 
surely  improves  the  manners  of  D.  G.  P.  She 
is  as  good  as  gold  with  him,  and  her  conversa- 
tion is  growing  quite  nautical." 

"  He's  as  changed  as  she,"  said  Jack. 
"  He's  downright  garrulous  and  babbling 
when  that  child's  with  him.  And  she  tells  me 
166 


Ssfff 


that  he  sings — think  of  that  old  chap  singing 
— when  he  calls  on  Mrs.  Denis." 

"  I  heard  him,"  babbled  Carrie.  "  Or  rather 
I  felt  him.  It  was  like  a  gentle  earthquake. 
And  then  Denis  allowed  herself  to  be  per- 
suaded to  step  a  few  steps  of  a  jig.  The  three 
infants  were  unmanageable  for  days  after- 
wards." 

"And  a  change  has  come  over  Denis's 
repertoire  of  songs  for  housewifely  lubrica- 
tion," Drummond  observed.  "When  I  came 
home  from  the  office  the  other  day  she  was 
shelling  peas  in  the  garden  to  the  tune  of 
'  Nancy  Lee,'  and  she  tried  to  put  the  infants 
to  sleep  on  '  My  Bonnie  Lies  over  the  Ocean.' 
Isn't  that  what  she  would  herself  describe  as 
a  '  dangerous  looking  sign '  if  she  detected  it 
in  our  fair  Chatelaine  ?  " 

"  Whom  Mr.  Ford  would  consign  to  alien 
lands  forever,"  remarked  Carrie.  "  I  wonder 
what  Denis  and  the  captain  would  think  if  they 
heard  him  hoping  she  would  never  come  back." 

"  I  said,"  Ford  repeated,  "  and  I  maintain, 
that  I  hope  Miss  Merrill  will  stay  away  for 
at  least  a  year.  During  that  time  I  intend  to 
167 


"She  fslo  of  ftreams 


set  all  things  straight  between  us,  so  that  I  can 
meet  her  frankly  on  equal  ground,  and  I  want 
both  of  you  to  help  me.  But  most  of  all  I 
want  you  to  write  her  no  reports  of  what  we 
are  doing  or  any  notices  which  may  appear 
in  the  newspapers." 

"  Newspaper  notices !  "  marveled  Carrie. 
"  Why  and  when  ?  " 

"  It's  part  of  the  game,  a  part  of  the  fame," 
he  answered.  "  She  can't  be  much  in  the  pub- 
lic eye  without  being  in  the  public  print." 

"Do  you  think  she'll  like  it?"  she  queried. 

"  Do  you  think  she'll  know  it  ?  "  he  parried. 

"  You  are  right ;  how  should  she  ?  "  Carrie 
sighed.  "  She  lets  no  one  write  to  her  save 
me,  and  my  poor  brain  reels  under  the  strain 
of  sending  her  a  weekly  budget  of  news  and 
leaving  out  all  the  interesting  happenings.  I 
can  never  tell  her  when  we  have  been  here  nor 
about  the  sailing  we  have  nor  any  of  the  fun. 
Luckily  there  are  always  the  children  to  write 
about.  She  is  as  insane  as  ever  about  them, 
begging  me  not  to  let  them  forget  her  and  all 
that  kind  of  thing.  As  though  I  could  change 
the  course  of  nature  and  make  the  days  stand 
168 


fsle  of  Qreams 


still.  But  I  do  my  best.  Come  here,  chil- 
dren," she  called,  as  the  young  ladies  plunged 
into  view  through  a  hedge  of  sweet  peas. 
"  Come  here  and  listen  to  your  overworked 
parent.  Do  you  remember  Aunt  Katharine  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mother,"  answered  the  elder  Miss 
Drummond;  the  younger  Miss  Drummond 
sucked  her  thumb. 

"  Then  don't  forget  her,"  their  mother 
charged  them.  "  But,  if  you  feel  it  coming 
on,  apply  to  Mr.  Ford.  He  remembers  her." 

"  My  Aunt  Katharine  gives  me  candy,"  the 
younger  Miss  Drummond  was  understood  to 
remark  as  she  swarmed  up  Mr.  Ford's  white- 
ducked  person  to  clasp  him  round  the  neck. 
"  No  one  gives  me  candy  now,"  she  stated 
plaintively.  "  Wisht  she'd  come  in  now  with 
candy." 

"Go  and  tell  my  mother  that  we  and  tea 
are  waiting  for  her,"  Robert  advised.  "  Per- 
haps she'll  give  you  some  cake  if  you  promise 
to  be  very  good." 

"  I  am  good,"  the  younger  Miss  Drummond 
assured  him.  "  But  cake  and  candy  makes  me 
better." 

169 


XV 

OO  you  know,"  Carrie  Drummond  idly 
observed     in    the    ensuing    pause, 
"  that  boat  out  there  seems  to  be 
in  trouble." 

Ford  turned  lazily  in  the  direction  of  her 
pointing  finger.  Jack  and  Drummond  were 
already  watching  the  erratic  course  of  a  small 
sloop  which  seemed  bent  upon  committing  sui- 
cide among  Captain  Jameson's  flotilla. 

"Girl  at  the  wheel,"  was  Jack's  diagnosis, 
and  Carrie  handed  him  the  field  glasses.  He 
broke  into  an  amazed  chuckle  and,  lying 
carefully  down  again,  began  to  wriggle,  pros- 
trate, toward  the  house.  Instantly  and  gladly 
the  elder  Miss  Drummond  prepared  to  follow 
suit,  but  was  parentally  restrained. 

"  Crawl  while  yet  there's  time,"  Jack  warned 
his  brother,  "  or,  if  you'd  rather,  stay  and  be 
170 


fsle  of  'Dreams 


taken  alive.  I'm  off  to  my  mother's  apron 
strings." 

Robert  possessed  himself  of  the  glasses, 
through  which  the  puzzled  Carrie  could  only 
distinguish  an  innocent  seeming  tender  into 
which  a  white-ducked  man  and  two  blue-jer- 
seyed  sailors  were  assisting  a  yachting  cos- 
tume, a  parasol,  and  a  pair  of  high-heeled  feet. 

"  By  Jove,  Jack,  she's  caught  you,"  said 
Robert  sympathetically  preparing  to  retreat 
toward  the  house.  "  Just  tell  her  how  deeply 
I  am  sure  to  regret  having  missed  her." 

"  I'd  love  to,  but  I've  such  a  cold,"  wheezed 
Jack  from  the  shelter  of  the  rosebushes.  "  Let 
Mrs.  Drummond  tell  her." 

"  Tell  whom  ? "  demanded  that  mystified 
matron.  "  What  has  happened  to  both  of 
you  ?  " 

"  We're  frightened ;  we  want  our  mother," 
the  hidden  Ford  explained,  and  Miss  Drum- 
mond, scenting  a  new  game,  crowed  raptu- 
rously and  threw  herself  upon  him. 

The  strangers  meanwhile  sped  over  the 
short  interspace  of  blue  water  and  approached 
the  landing  stage,  where  "the  Boy,"  Captain 
12  171 


"Uhe  Sale   of 


Jameson,  and  his  constant  shadow,  Doris 
Gwendolin  Patricia,  "  stood  by  "  with  a  beau- 
tiful precision.  The  lady  in  the  nautical  cos- 
tume waved  a  hand,  raised  a  veil,  tilted  a 
parasol,  and  Doris  Gwendolin  Patricia  bolted 
toward  the  group  upon  the  terrace.  Her  thin 
legs  twinkled  over  the  grass,  and  her  thinner 
voice  preceded  her: 

"  It's  that  Miss  Emerton,"  she  panted,  as 
she  fell  upon  Mrs.  Drummond.  "  What's  she 
coming  for?  We  didn't  want  her." 

"  True,  sage  infant,"  Carrie  answered,  as 
she  glanced  from  Ford  to  Ford  and  did  some 
rapid  memory  work,  "  but  perhaps  she  wants 
some  of  us." 

"  I  want  my  mother,"  Jack  insisted.  "  I 
only  want  my  mother." 

"  And  what  can  she  do  for  you  ? "  asked 
Mrs.  Ford,  appearing  at  one  of  the  long 
windows. 

"  Save  me !  "  he  begged.  "  Let  her  have 
Robert.  I'm  too  young  to  be  taken  from  my 
mother." 

"  It's    Miss    Emerton,"    Robert    explained. 
"  She  has  returned  to  claim  her  own." 
172 


Vhe  fsle  of  'Dreams 


"  Or  to  exhibit  him,"  supplemented  Carrie, 
watching  the  embarkation  with  shrewd  eyes. 
"From  the  bend  of  his  back  and  the  set  of 
his  chin,  I  should  judge  that  spotless  youth 
to  consider  himself  on  exhibition  in  a  hostile, 
jealous  land." 

"  He  is,"  said  Jack.  "  I  ought  to  warn  him 
that  Robert " 

"  Go  and  bid  him  welcome,  boys,"  their 
mother  enjoined  them. 

"  And  stifle  your  true  feelings,"  added  Car- 
rie. "  Remember  that  a  man  may  smile  and 
smile  and  be  a  villain." 

The  brothers  rose  in  obedient  concert,  and, 
each  attended  and  circumnavigated  by  a  cir- 
cling Miss  Drummond,  set  out  to  do  the  neces- 
sary violence  to  truth. 

The  stranger  proved  to  be  a  suspicious  but 
harmless  combination  of  large  feet  and  hands, 
with  a  small  head  and  a  jerky  manner.  Jack 
remembered  having  encountered  him  at  some 
winter  festivity,  and  welcomed  him  with  all 
possible  cordiality,  while  he  met  Miss  Emer- 
ton  with  a  just  perceptible  tinge  of  reproach- 
fulness  which  gratified  that  young  lady  and 
173 


Sale  of  'Dreams 


flattered  the  small-headed  young  man  into  the 
pride  of  feeling  that  he  was  succeeding  where 
another  had  failed — as  Jack  intended  that  he 
should  feel. 

Robert  was  presented  and  commiserated 
under  the  same  happy  misconception,  and  then 
Gladys  turned  incredulous  eyes  upon  the 
plump  but  uncordial  faces  of  the  Misses 
Drummond. 

"  Why,  babies  !  "  was  the  only  remark  which 
her  usually  copious  vocabulary  yielded,  nor 
was  her  amazement  decreased  when  Doris 
Gwendolin  Patricia  passed  on  her  quick,  flit- 
ting way  to  rejoin  the  captain.  Another  sur- 
prise was  waiting  for  her  in  a  cushion-filled 
lounging  chair  beside  the  tea  table — Carrie 
Drummond — and  she  found  still  another  in 
the  air  of  perfect  and  accustomed  ease  with 
which  this  young  matron  presided  over  the 
samovar  and  chatted  with  Mrs.  Ford,  while 
Drummond  devoted  his  lazy  energies  to  the 
disinfecting  of  a  favorite  rosebush  with  clouds 
of  tobacco  smoke.  More  introductions  ensued 
through  which  Gladys's  large-handed  admirer 
was  sustained  by  being  appointed  guardian  of 
174 


ZtAff   Ss/ff   of  'Dreams 


the  white  parasol.  He  stood  in  need  of  some 
such  support,  for  Miss  Emerton  was  encoun- 
tering even  more  difficulty  in  steering  her  con- 
versational bark  through  the  shoals  and  rapids 
of  this  gathering  than  she  had  met  on  her 
approach  to  the  Island.  Whenever  a  collision 
seemed  inevitable  she  threw  the  unsuspecting 
Mr.  G.  Percival  Carsons  over  the  rail  and 
used  him  to  avert  the  crash  of  actual  impact. 
But  nothing  could  check  Mrs.  Ford's  innocent 
desire  for  speech  and  information,  and  it  was 
she  who  introduced  the  topic  which  everyone 
else-*— except  always  the  custodian  of  the  para- 
sol— had  been  avoiding. 

"  What  do  you  hear  from  our  friend  Miss 
Merrill  ?  "  she  asked  when  everyone  was  com- 
fortably established. 

"  Nothing  at  all,"  responded  Miss  Emerton, 
and  she  threw  Mr.  Carsons  into  aquatic  service 
again  by  asking  him : 

"  You  remember  my  friend,  the  Miss  Mer- 
rill who  painted,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"Remember  her  perfectly,"  he  agreed. 
"  Brown  eyes,  hadn't  she  ?  Awfully  neat  girl. 
Awfully  neat." 

175 


Ssle   of 


He  had  already  so  characterized  the  Drum-) 
mond  babies,  the  wide  prospect  of  summer  sea. 
several  of  Miss  Emerton's  remarks,  and  the 
proportions  of  tea,  cream,  and  sugar  with 
which  Carrie  had  regaled  him.  He  felt  that 
he  was  blossoming  into  eloquence  and  doing 
honor  to  his  theme,  and  the  silence  which 
greeted  his  last  remarks  urged  him  to  yet 
more  complicated  flights. 

"  Saw  a  picture  of  hers  once  in  a  shop. 
Really  a  neat  little  thing  you  know,  with  some 
water  and  trees  and  things  of  that  kind  in  it. 
Haven't  seen  her  lately.  Where  is  she,  Miss 
Gladys?" 

"  Ask  Mr.  Ford,"  Gladys  acidly  advised 
him,  but  before  he  had  found  time  to  do  so, 
Carrie  was  answering  him  and  earning  the 
admiration  of  Jack  Ford  and  the  grateful 
friendship  of  Robert.  What  the  recording 
angels  may  have  thought  of  her  performance 
seemed  to  trouble  her  not  at  all. 

"  Miss  Merrill  is  in  Europe,"  she  told  Mr. 
Carsons,  with  so  confidential  a  smile  that  he 
felt  quite  definitely  informed.  "  She  got  sev- 
eral commissions  which  meant  a  great  deal  to 
176 


fslo  of  breams 


her,  and  she  went  over  to  execute  them. 
Haven't  you  heard  from  her?"  she  added 
sweetly  to  Gladys. 

"  Never,"  said  that  young  person,  but  she 
said  it  to  Robert.  Questions  and  answers 
seemed  to  run  at  cross-purposes,  and  the  care- 
fully trained  Misses  Drummond  marveled  at 
the  manners  of  these  elders  of  theirs.  "  Never 
once,"  Miss  Emerton  repeated,  "since  a  day 
or  two  after  she  ran  away  so  queerly  from  me. 
She  telephoned  me  then  that  she  was  going 
to  sail  almost  immediately,  but  I  did  not  bother 
to  go  to  see  her  off.  I  have  never  quite  for- 
given her  for  her  treatment  of  my  friends." 

"Didn't  you  tell  me  something  about  that 
visit?"  the  small-headed  Mr.  Carsons  broke 
loose  to  inquire.  "I  remember  your  being 
dreadfully  fagged  one  night  when  I  met  you 
at  Mrs.  Courtney's.  You  said  you'd  been  at 
some  poky  place  in  the  country  with  a  girl 
who  behaved  like  the  Wandering  Jew.  I'm 
remembering  it  perfectly  now.  There  was 
music  there  and  a  chap  who  made  a  fool  of 
himself  in  Southern  dialect.  An  awfully  neat 
affair  altogether.  And  now  your  Wandering 
177 


Tthe  fsle  of  breams 


Jew  is  in  Europe !  That's  rather  turning  the 
tide  isn't  it?  They  generally  wander  in  this 
direction,  don't  they  ?  " 

Some  occult  signal  flashed  from  Carrie  to 
Drummond,  and  that  gentleman  abandoned 
his  rosebush  and  caught  this  conversational 
gauntlet.  Other  psychic  commands  followed, 
and  he  caught  the  conversational  Mr.  Carsons 
and  led  him  away  to  the  safety  of  the  billiard 
room.  After  a  decent  interval  Jack  followed 
them,  and  was  presently  heard  calling  loudly 
for  his  brother. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  demanded  Robert  as  he 
sauntered  up  the  steps,  but  Jack  waited  until 
they  were  within  whispering  distance  before 
he  suggested. 

"Let's  give  true  love  a  helping  hand. 
Come  down  and  envy  him.  You  sigh  like  a 
furnace  and  I'll  be  actively  rude — Drummond 
will  help.  I've  tipped  him  off." 

Drummond  was  already  at  work.  He  and 
Carsons  were  moistly  sentimental  on  the  lone- 
liness of  bachelorhood.  The  windows  of  the 
billiard  room  stood  open  and  the  brothers 
were  just  outside. 

178 


Ssla   of  breams 


"  You  see  these  young  fellows  here,"  they 
heard  Drummond  say  in  a  throaty  quaver. 
"You  see  the  luxury  which  surrounds 
them!  They  are  devoted  to  one  another 
and  to  their  mother;  they  have,  as  you 
see,  plenty  of  society,  and  yet  they  are  not 
happy ! " 

"Poor  chaps!"  commiserated  the  fortu- 
nate G.  Percival.  "I  suppose  they  do  get 
lonely.  But  they  certainly  are  neatly  fixed 
here.  Awfully  neatly  fixed." 

"  Now  I,"  pursued  Drummond,  "  I  have  no 
such  pomps  in  my  humble  rooms " 

"  He  lives  like  a  Sybarite !  "  chuckled  Rob- 
ert, while  Jack  leaned  helplessly  against  the 
wall.  "  Did  you  ever  know  he  had  it  in  him  ?  " 
he  demanded.  "  Isn't  he  the  star  of  pure  ef- 
fulgent ray ! " 

"  But  happiness,"  Drummond  went  on, 
"  happiness  has  nothing  to  do  with  comfort. 
When  you're  most  happy  you're  often  most 
uncomfortable.  You  and  I  know  that.  These 
Ford  men  might  have  discovered  it  if  each 
had  not  thought  only  of  the  other,  but  now  it 
is  too  late  for  both  of  them.  And  perhaps 
179 


fsto  of  ftreams 


they  could  not  have  made  her  happy.     She's 
a  wonderful  creature." 

"  She  is !  She  is !  "  G.  Percival  Carsons  ac- 
quiesced warmly.  He  was  by  this  time  very 
warm  indeed,  what  with  the  sun  and  tea  and 
embarrassment.  "  But  look  here,"  he  went  on 
when  the  purport  of  Drummond's  earlier  re- 
mark filtered  through  his  cranium.  "  Perhaps 
we  oughtn't  to  have  come  here  to-day.  I 
wouldn't  have  come  a  step  if  I'd  known.  It 
would  be  low,  you  know.  I  wouldn't  have  come 
a  step,"  he  repeated  earnestly,  for  G.  Percival 
Carsons  had  his  code  of  ethics,  and  it  forbade 
open  gloating  over  crushed  rivals.  "  But  Miss 
Emerton  wanted  to  show  me  the  Island.  She 
thinks  I  ought  to  buy  something  like  it,  and, 
by  Jove,  I  think  I  will.  It's  so  awfully  neat, 
you  know.  Still,  if  she  had  told  me  about 
these  poor  chaps  I'd  never  have  come,  you 
know.  Two  of  them !  Dear,  dear !  " 

"  Oh,  she  didn't  know !  You  see  each  was 
waiting  for  the  other  to  speak.  And  she  never 
guesses  the  impression  she  is  creating.  She 
is,"  and  Drummond  watched  his  victim  stead- 
ily, "  so  absolutely  unaffected  and  natural." 
180 


Vhe  Ssle  of  ftreams 


"  She  is  indeed.  How  well  you  seem  to 
know  her.  And  to  think  of  their  never  tell- 
ing her !  And  knowing  her  for  nearly  a  year ! 
Why,  I've  told  her  forty  times  already,  and  I 
met  her  only  three  months  and  twenty-five 
days  ago.  Poor  chaps.  She  doesn't  even 
guess." 

"Of  course  not,  and  you  mustn't  let  her. 
I  had  no  real  right  to  tell  you  all  this,  but  I 
felt  that  you  ought  to  know.  If  she  found  it 
out  she  might  make  herself  miserable  by  refus- 
ing to  accept  the  man  she  loves — "  and  Drum- 
mond  possessed  himself  of  the  stranger's 
right  hand  and  shook  it — "because  by  doing 
so  she  would  make  two  other  good  men  mis- 
erable. You  know  what  a  heart  she  has ! " 

"  It  would  never  do  at  all,"  Carsons  agreed. 
"  It  makes  me  feel  like  a  sweep  to  think  of  it, 
but,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I'm  the  happiest  man 
alive.  She's  to  give  me  a  final  answer  on  the 
way  home  this  evening.  And  of  course  her 
coming  here  with  me  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
you  know,  makes  me  hope  for  the  best,  you 
know." 

"  Surely,  surely,"  Drummond  encouraged 
181 


Jste  of  breams 


him.  "  And  you  mustn't  mind  these  Fords 
too  much.  '  It's  an  ill  wind '  you  know,  and 
'  all's  fair  in  love  and  war.'  They  missed  their 
chance  and  a  braver  man  wins ;  that's  all." 

And  yet  if  that  were  all  why  did  he,  imme- 
diately upon  the  appearance  of  the  brothers, 
set  out  in  search  of  one  of  his  daughters, 
whom  he  set  out  in  turn  in  search  of  his  wife? 
And  when  they  were  together  in  the  dim 
privacy  of  the  library,  why  did  he  further  im- 
part to  that  capable  young  matron  the  exact 
condition  of  affairs  between  Miss  Emerton 
and  her  admirer. 

"  By  the  way,"  she  asked  casually,  "  did  he 
tell  you  who  he  is  ?  " 

"  G.  Percival  Carsons." 

"  The  millionaire  proprietor  of  '  Silver  Ma- 
ple/"  she  announced.  "You  remember  the 
advertisements :  '  Sure  and  quick  relief  for 
pain  or  strain  in  man  or  beast.  May  be  taken 
internally  or  externally ;  best  if  taken  eter- 
nally.' " 

"Carsons  the  Eternal!"  exclaimed  Drum- 
mond.  "  I've  heard  of  him  often  enough.  So 

that's  he !    And  that  girl " 

182 


fsle   of  'Dreams 


"  Is  going  to  marry  him  if  she  can't  get  Rob- 
ert Ford.  She  has  been  telling  us  about  his 
horses  and  his  temper  and  his  money.  I  never 
did  like  that  girl !  She  came  here  to-day  just 
to  see  what  her  chances  were  with  Robert. 
How  much  do  you  think  she  really  knows 
about  Kate  and  her  pictures  and  all?" 

"  Not  much,  I  should  judge.  She  was  not 
quite  clever  enough  to  grasp  the  situation  on 
the  night  of  the  catastrophe,  and  she  has  heard 
nothing  since." 

"  Well,  she's  made  up  her  mind  to  find  out 
what  she  can,  but  Mrs.  Ford  is  a  match  for' 
her.  She  has  been  fishing  all  the  last  half 
hour,  and  has  only  discovered  that  Miss  Mer- 
rill was  here  one  day  in  the  early  summer 
shortly  before  she  sailed  on  the  Celtic" 

"That  must  have  surprised  her,"  laughed 
Drummond.  "  She's  not  succeeding  bril- 
liantly in  her  quest,  is  she  ?  " 

"  But  she's  making  up  her  mind  on  the 
matrimonial  project,"  said  Carrie.  "Isn't  it 
awful,  Tom,  to  be  able  to  'make  up  one's 
mind '  about  being  married.  When  it  came 
to  that  point  with  me  I  hadn't  any  mind  at  all." 
183 


fsle   of  toroams 


"  Thank  you,  dear,"  said  her  husband. 
"  That's  very  flattering." 

"  Oh,  you  know  what  I  mean !  "  she  ex- 
claimed, enfolding  as  much  of  him  as  her 
arms  could  encompass  in  a  quick  and  remorse- 
ful embrace.  "  You  know  I  didn't  think 
things  out  as  she  is  doing.  She  has  come  here 
deliberately  to  see  if  she  has  any  chance  to 
secure  Robert  and  the  Island  before  she  makes 
a  more  brilliant  but  less  pleasant  arrangement 
with  Carsons." 

"  Exactly,"  he  acquiesced.  "  And  you  are 
to  show  her  that  she  hasn't." 

"But  how?" 

"  Far  be  it  from  me  to  dictate,"  said  he. 
' '  Vcrbmn  sap,1  my  dear.  I  must  go  back 
to  the  victor  and  the  vanquished.  But  remem- 
ber, she  is  to  give  him  her  answer  this  very 
evening." 

"  She  will,"  promised  Carrie.  "  She'll  do  it 
before  they  leave  this  island." 

And  she  did.  Drummond  had  always  found 
his  wife's  machinations  diverting,  but  that 
afternoon  she  threw  herself  into  a  combina- 
tion of  plots  and  counterplots  which  made  the 
184 


fste  of  breams 


one  enlightened  member  of  her  audience  won- 
der what  his  life  would  be  if  she  should  turn 
her  arts  and  her  audacity  to  mischievous  pur- 
pose. From  time  to  time  she  acted  Chorus  to 
her  own  drama  and  vouchsafed  him  a  word  of 
explanation,  but  for  the  most  part  he  was 
content  to  watch  her  manipulations  of  the 
dramatis  persona  with  a  calm  assurance  that 
in  the  last  act  Gladys's  much-coiffed  head 
would  be  resting  on  the  shoulder  of  Carsons, 
the  Eternal. 

Groups  and  pairs  coalesced  and  parted, 
strolled  or  sat,  re-formed  and  broke  again, 
under  Carrie's  unsuspected  generalship,  and 
only  once  did  Drummond  find  cause  for  mis- 
giving. He  was  seeking  solitude,  or  his 
daughters,  in  the  orchard,  and  discerned  Miss 
Emerton's  long  gracefulness  disposed  to  ad- 
mirable advantage  against  the  trunk  of  an 
apple  tree.  And  she  was  in  animated  and  evi- 
dently sentimental  conversation  with  Robert 
Ford !  Drummond  hurried  off  to  report  this 
discovery  to  Carrie,  but  she  reassured  him. 

"  Of  course,  I  know,  I  sent  him  to  do  it." 

"  To  flirt  in  the  orchard  ?  " 
185 


Sste  of  ftreams 


"  To  congratulate  her  upon  her  engage- 
ment. I  screwed  it  out  of  her  and  then  every- 
thing was  simple.  Jack  finished  first.  He's 
doing  erratic  things  with  ice  and  limes  and 
things  in  the  butler's  pantry,  and  G.  Percival 
is  being  cheered  and  petted  by  Mrs.  Ford  in 
the  library.  Oh,  I'm  so  hot !  " 

"  Poor  little  woman,"  he  sympathized, 
"you've  been  at  it  pretty  steadily  for  two 
hours.  But  it's  good  practice.  You'll  be  glad 
you've  had  it  when  you  come  to  settle  your 
daughters  and  their  suitors." 

"Don't  talk  like  that,  Tom,"  she  begged. 
"  You  talk  as  if  I  were  a  matchmaker.  And 
you  know " 

"  I  do,  indeed,"  he  interrupted.  "  What  are 
you  doing  to  Captain  Jameson  and  to  Denis? 
What  are  you  doing  to  Robert  Ford  and  pre- 
paring to  do  to  the  Chatelaine  when  you  lay 
hands  on  her?  Marry  them!  every  one  of 
them,  you  dear  old  Mormon." 

"  But  this  was  your  idea,"  she  urged.  "  And 
now,  your  punishment  has  found  you.  Here 
comes  the  bride  elect  and  it's  your  turn  to  be 
congratulatory." 

186 


XVI 


of  hers 
dealers. 


Katharine  Merrill's 
name  emerged  from  obscurity.  At 
judicious  intervals  a  canvas  or  two 
appeared  in  the  showrooms  of  the 
They  were  always  marked  "  Sold," 
but  they  provoked  comment  and  occasional 
offers  of  repurchase.  Loan  exhibitions  had  a 
new  name  on  their  catalogue;  a  new  beauty 
on  their  walls.  Sunday  supplements  published 
reproductions  —  before  which  Carrie  cringed 
—  of  the  work  of  the  new  American  artist. 
A  magazine  of  authority  devoted  several  pages 
to  an  article  of  critical  appreciation.  Slowly 
and  very  carefully  she  grew  in  the  esteem 
and  the  knowledge  of  the  big  impersonal  Pub- 
lic until  Mrs.  Denis  neglected  the  circulating 
library  and  devoted  her  leisure  and  surplus 
capital  to  periodic  literature. 
13  187 


Vhe  Ssle  of  'Dreams 


The  Drummonds  were  Ford's  constant  ad- 
visers in  what  he  described  as  the  Publicity 
Department  of  his  project.  His  experience 
of  candid  and  commercial  advertising  was  of 
little  assistance  to  him  here.  But  Drummond 
knew  which  publications  were  authoritative 
on  matters  of  art.  Carrie  knew  a  girl  who 
could  "  do  some  good  stuff  and  place  it,  too." 
Drummond  knew  which  exhibitions  were 
worth  while,  and  a  reporter  who  could  give  a 
chosen  picture  due  prominence  in  the  next 
day's  "Art  Notes." 

Ford  was  surprised  that  a  campaign  of  res- 
titution could  be  such  an  absorbing  thing,  and 
he  derived  endless  information  and  amuse- 
ment from  its  details.  But  its  greatest  con- 
tribution to  his  pleasure  was  the  friendship 
of  the  Drummonds,  which  led  to  a  merging 
and  coalescing  of  the  two  households  until  the 
Misses  Drummond  were  as  much  at  home 
upon  the  Island  as  they  were  in  the  little  park 
opposite  their  city  home,  and  Ford  was  as 
familiar  to  Mrs.  Denis's  admiring  regard  as 
he  was  to  the  doorman  of  his  favorite  club. 
Even  Pierre  and  the  Captain  were  involved  in 
188 


Ssie  of  %)reams 


this  era  of  good  feeling,  and  the  Gallic  gloom 
of  the  former  melted  away  under  the  spell  of 
the  younger  Miss  Drummond,  who  adored 
him.  She  would  so  blithely  risk  her  life  in 
hanging  over  the  side  of  the  car  by  one  arm 
or  leg.  She  would  insert  her  fat  little  fingers 
into  forbidden  intricacies,  and  withdraw  them 
in  such  disillusionment  when  they  were  hurt. 
She  would  find  and  take  unto  herself  such 
unsuspected  smudges  of  black  grease  or  other 
lurking  uncleanliness.  She  would  call  down 
upon  her  unrepentant  head  so  many  parental 
reprimands.  It  was  impossible  to  approve  of 
her  traveling  manners,  and  much  more  im- 
possible to  leave  her  at  home  when  an  excur- 
sion was  in  prospect.  So  her  mother  had 
adopted  the  expedient  of  putting  her  in 
Pierre's  charge,  and  to  him  in  times  of  stress 
of  misbehavior  she  would  turn  with  a  faith  in 
his  prowess  and  a  confidence  in  his  kindness 
which  were  irresistible  to  the  chivalry  of 
France. 

This  intercourse  between  the  families  added 
largely  to   Ford's  knowledge   of  the  absent 
Chatelaine.    He  wandered  through  her  rooms, 
189 


fsle  of  'Dreams 


heard  her  mentioned  hourly  and  intimately, 
handled  the  books  she  had  loved,  drank  from 
the  cups  and  ate  from  the  plates  she  had 
chosen.  He  was  urged  to  "  try  another  piece 
of  this  cake,  it  is  Katharine's  favorite  of  all 
Mrs.  Denis's  repertoire,"  and  warned  that  "  a 
great  big  spiky-haired  goblin  lives  in  that 
closet  where  Aunt  Katharine  keeps  her  paints 
and  brushes.  He'd  bite  anyone  but  her,  an' 
make  your  skin  all  painty  where  his  teef 
went  in." 

And  daily  he  added  to  the  sum  total  of  his 
impressions  the  quiet  dignity  and  well-ordered 
discipline  of  her  home.  The  air  of  refinement 
and  repose  which  permeated  it,  never  lost  its 
charm  for  him,  and  he  felt  a  very  real  but  sub- 
conscious pride  in  them.  It  would  not  have 
been  safe  to  suggest  to  him  that  he  was  at 
all  influenced  by  the  fact  that,  while  the  taste 
and  labor  were  hers,  he  had  furnished  the 
sinews  of  war.  He  and  she  had  all  uncon- 
sciously cooperated  in  the  result.  And,  as 
his  own  possessions  had  always  seemed  a 
shade  more  desirable  than  those  of  other 
people,  he  came  to  consider  this  by-product 
190 


fste   of  ^Dreams 


of  his  picture  gallery  as  far  and  away  the 
most  pleasant  place  in  all  the  not  inhospitable 
city. 

He  never  ceased  from  marveling  that  so 
much  had  been  done  with  so  little.  He  had 
spent  less  upon  his  pictures  than  upon,  for  in- 
stance, his  yacht,  and  she  had  turned  that 
little  to  such  marvelous  advantage.  Drum- 
mond  had  long  been  Katharine's  man  of  busi- 
ness, and  he  had  held  it  no  treason  to  put 
Robert  Ford  in  possession  of  the  facts  relat- 
ing to  the  financial  standing  of  the  absent 
Chatelaine.  Carrie  had  indeed  insisted  upon 
this  explanation,  knowing  that  her  friend, 
in  the  dismay  of  finding  the  length  and 
breadth  of  her  indebtedness  to  Ford,  had 
quite  ignored  her  earlier  indebtedness  to  her 
grandfather,  to  whom  she  owed  the  house, 
its  essential  furnishings,  and  a  balance  at  the 
bank  which  made  penury  and  luxury  alike  im- 
possible. 

What  restraint  she  showed,  what  discern- 
ment, and  what  maturity  of  taste !  Was  it 
possible  that  his  memory  played  him  false? 
Was  this,  indeed,  the  normal  setting  of  the 
191 


Ssle  of  ^Dreams 


blue-clad,  bright-haired  figure  which  had 
flitted  about  the  Katrinka  and  had  chattered 
to  Captain  Jameson  and  himself? 

And  then  he  asked  himself  again  the  ques- 
tion which  had  baffled  him:  Was  she  after  all 
more  child  or  woman?  He  told  himself  im- 
patiently that  the  answer  to  it  had  nothing  to 
do  with  the  fact  that  he  owed  her  a  reputation 
and  a  fame. 

Many  and  serious  were  the  consultations 
held  by  him  and  the  Drummonds  upon  the 
details  of  that  climax  of  all  their  efforts — 
the  exhibition  and  sale.  After  long  delibera- 
tion they  fixed  upon  the  middle  of  March 
as  the  most  auspicious  season.  The  sale  was 
extravagantly  advertised  and  extravagantly 
managed,  and  it  proved  an  extravagant 
success.  The  works  of  Katharine  Merrill 
were  scattered  as  far  as  even  she  could 
desire,  and  only  the  "  Isle  of  Dreams  "  re- 
mained, hung  now  with  much  quiet  pomp 
of  frame  and  circumstance  upon  her  studio 
wall. 

Her  letters  at  about  that  time  were  full  of 
the  small  trials  and  successes  which  marked 
192 


fslo  of  breams 


the  history  of  her  own  pictures,  and  Carrie 
suffered  agonies  of  repression  as  she  turned 
from  the  reading  of  enthusiastic  comment  or 
sympathetic  criticism  to  the  writing  of  plati- 
tudes of  domesticity. 

The  pictures  gone,  a  new  problem  arose. 
After  much  careful  bookkeeping  the  conspira- 
tors found  themselves  possessed  of  a  sum 
which  quite  overwhelmed  Carrie  until  Ford 
informed  her  that,  with  her  assistance,  he  in- 
tended to  spend  it  all  in  Katharine  Merrill's 
name,  and  in  ways  which  she  might  have 
chosen,  and  this  before  she  could  return  and 
disclaim  it. 

"  For  it's  hers,  of  course,"  he  explained. 
"  And  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  she  would 
never  have  anything  to  do  with  it.  So  we'll 
spend  it  for  her,  if  you  don't  mind." 

Then  Carrie  consigned  the  babies  to  the  care 
of  Denis  and  delivered  herself  up  to  an  orgie 
of  extravagance.  She  and  Robert  investi- 
gated charities  and  attended  board  meetings. 
They  held  long  consultations  with  Jack  Ford 
in  his  legal  and  professional  capacity.  With 
Drummond  she  attended  art  auctions  and  pur- 
193 


fsle  of  Breams 


chased  tangible  Beauty.  They  visited  shops 
which  could  find  no  adequate  English  for  their 
wares,  but  described  them  in  foreign  tongues 
and  held  them  at  outlandish  values.  A  sub- 
stantial annuity  was  settled  upon  Mrs.  Denis. 
The  precarious  future  of  Doris  Gwendolin 
Patricia  was  made  as  safe  as  a  steady  but 
modest  income  could  make  it.  Various  pro- 
tegees of  Katharine's  were  provided  for  in  her 
name  by  the  untiring  Carrie,  who  discovered 
and  reported  to  her  amused  coadjutors  that 
it  might  be  more  blessed,  but  it  was  certainly 
more  difficult,  to  give  than  to  receive.  "  Espe- 
cially," she  added,  "  to  the  poor.  You  know, 
Tom,  that  sick  girl  whom  Kate  discovered  in 
the  square  one  night  and  kept  in  the  spare 
room  until  she  and  Denis  had  coddled  her 
back  into  as  much  health  as  she  had  ever 
known " 

"  And  I  remember  that  you  took  a  hand  in 
the  coddling,  and  that  gowns  and  other  com- 
forts went  with  her,"  Drummond  amplified. 
"What  has  she  done?" 

"  First  she  refused  to  leave  town  unless  her 
crippled  sister  could  go  with  her.  Then  she 
194 


T>he  fsle  of  'Dreams 


refused  to  go  unless  she  were  allowed  to  re- 
gard their  fare  and  board  and  other  expenses 
in  the  light  of  a  loan  '  to  be  repaid,' "  quoted 
Carrie  with  frank  tears  in  her  eyes,  " '  with 
interest,  just  as  soon  as  we  get  well,' "  and 
Carrie,  still  frankly,  blew  her  nose  and  aban- 
doned herself  to  tears  in  the  shelter  of 
Drummond's  arm.  But  she  was  soon  suffi- 
ciently restored  to  go  on  with  her  report  on 
ambitions  aided,  obstacles  removed,  comforts 
provided,  and  pleasures  arranged.  "  And  to 
think  that  Kate  is  missing  it  all ! "  she 
wailed.  "  These  are  the  things  in  all  the 
world  which  she  would  most  enjoy  doing. 
I  think  I've  remembered  everyone  in  whom 
she  was  interested,  and  I  hope  I've  helped 
them  as  she  would  wish  to  have  them 
helped." 

But  Ford  knew  of  two  serious  omissions 
from  her  list,  and  to  these  he  had  himself 
attended  before  securing  her  cooperation.  He 
had  insured  a  moderate  degree  of  prosper- 
ity to  the  Misses  Drummond,  and  the  bed  in 
the  Children's  Hospital  had  become  a  little 
ward  where  six  small  sufferers  might  find 
195 


fsle   of  'Dreams 


health.  Over  its  door  it  bore  the  name  of 
Katharine  Merrill,  and  on  its  wall,  at  a  height 
to  which  even  tired  eyes  could  lift  themselves, 
there  hung  a  vision  of  sea  and  sunset  called 
"  Silver  Sails  Come  Out  of  the  West." 


196 


XVII 

Katharine  Merrill  came  home. 
She  had  accomplished  all  upon 
which  she  had  set  her  heart.  She 
had  found  her  talent  and  proved  it  before  the 
world.  It  was  May  again,  and  morning  as 
she  passed  between  Fort  Wadsworth  and  Fort 
Hamilton.  She  saw  that  fruit  trees  were  in 
blossom  and  that  all  the  world  was  young. 

She  was  met  by  the  elder  Drummonds,  and 
thought  that  she  detected  a  new  constraint  in 
Carrie's  manner,  even  in  the  enthusiasm  of 
first  greetings.  When  Drummond  had  at  last 
obtained  their  freedom  and  had  bestowed  them 
in  a  waiting  hansom,  he  bent  over  his  wife : 

"  Tell  her  as  soon  as  you  can,"  he  advised. 
"  You  don't  know  when  he'll  turn  up,  and  you 
promised  to  prepare  her  mind.  George,  but 
she's  handsome!" 

197 


Ssle  of  ^Dreams 


"  You  tell  her,"  pleaded  Carrie. 

"  I'll  follow  you  in  half  an  hour,"  Drum- 
mond  said  to  Katharine,  ignoring  his  wife's 
pleading  hand  and  eyes.  "  I'll  just  go  to  the 
office  to  look  after  my  mail,"  and  the  cab  rat- 
tled out  into  the  bright  sunshine,  which  even 
at  the  city's  bedraggled  hem  was  gay  and 
springlike. 

"  And  how  well  you  look !  "  they  cried  then 
in  coincidental  chorus  as  they  turned  to  sur- 
vey one  another.  "  How  very  well  you  look !  " 

"  I  am  well,"  Katharine  answered.  "  And 
I've  got  those  medals  and  things  I  went  out 
to  seek.  And  I  sold  the  Salon  picture." 

"  Oh,  you  lucky,  lucky  girl ! "  Carrie  inter- 
rupted, seeing  safe  and  foreign  conversational 
ground.  "  Tell  me  all  about  it." 

"There  isn't  much  to  tell.  I  got  what  I 
wanted,  and  somehow,  quite  suddenly,  I  found 
that  I  did  not  want  it  at  all.  No  one  was  glad. 
No  one  really  cared  except  those  who  were 
jealous.  Altogether  it  was  rather  lonely  and 
disappointing.  '  Vanity  of  vanities,'  you 
know." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  her  vehement  friend  re- 
198 


Vhe  fsle  of  <Dreams 


torted.  "  I  think  it  was  perfectly  splendid  of 
you  to  go  over  there  all  alone  and  to  work  all 
alone  and  to  win  all  alone.  Instead  of  crying 
vanitas,  vanitas,  you  ought  to  shout  veni,  vide, 
vici.  I'd  give  anything  for  your  honors." 

"  Tom  and  the  infants,  for  instance  ?  "  Kath- 
arine suggested.  "Would  you  sell  them  for 
money  or  fame  ?  "  And  Carrie,  thinking  of  a 
coming  interview,  smiled  and  took  heart  of 
grace.  But  she  shirked  her  duty. 

Mrs.  Denis  threatened  to  precipitate  the  ex- 
planation. When  she  held  her  darling  once 
more  in  her  arms  and  had  assured  herself  that 
Katharine  was  well  and  unchanged,  she  broke 
into  such  a  storm  of  welcome  and  of  grati- 
tude as  aroused  the  wonder  which  the  trans- 
formed studio  finished.  For  the  place  was  a 
very  bower  of  beauty  and  of  apple  blossoms, 
and,  above  it  all,  serene,  violet  cliffed,  en- 
chanting, "  The  Isle  of  Dreams  "  lay  on  its 
placid  waters,  waiting. 

"What  does  it  mean?"  Katharine  de- 
manded for  the  hundredth  time.  "  What's  the 
matter  with  Denis,  and  why  is  that  picture 
here?" 

199 


Ssle  of  'Dreams 


"You've  not  seen  the  infants,"  Carrie 
evaded.  "  Wait  a  moment.  They  are  dearer 
than  ever." 

So  the  Misses  Drummond  stood  on  plump, 
white-stockinged  legs  between  their  parent 
and  explanation.  The  manner  of  the  elder 
Miss  Drummond  was  perfect.  She  threw  her- 
self upon  her  restored  aunt  and  shrieked 
aloud.  But  the  younger  Miss  Drummond 
stood  and  gazed. 

"  Come  and  speak  to  Aunt  Katharine,"  she 
was  admonished.  She  only  sucked  her 
thumb. 

"  You  remember  Aunt  Katharine,"  her 
mother  charged  her. 

"  Remember  Aunt  Katharine,"  repeated  the 
infant  obligingly  but  vaguely. 

"  Who  do  you  love  best  ?  "  Mrs.  Drummond 
prompted  in  an  agony.  "  Who  gives  you 
candy  ?  " 

"  I  love  my  Uncle  Robert  best,"  the  younger 
Miss  Drummond  answered  with  a  horrible  dis- 
tinctness. "  Wisht  he'd  come  in  now  with 
candy." 

"Your  Uncle  Robert,"  Katharine  repeated 
200 


Sslo  of  breams 


blankly,  and  turned  to  Carrie.  "  Who  is  her 
Uncle  Robert?" 

"  I'm  done  for,"  moaned  Carrie,  but  Drum- 
mond's  entrance  saved  her. 

"Haven't  you  done  it  yet?"  he  whispered 
to  his  wife.  "  Good  Heavens,  haven't  you 
done  it  yet?  " 

"  No,"  Carrie  answered.  "  I  left  it  to  you. 
After  all,  you  know,  he  was  your  friend." 

"  Viper,"  was  his  commentary  upon  this 
remark.  "  But  it's  got  to  be  done.  He  may 
be  here  at  any  time." 

And  they  did  it.  It  took  tact  and  time  and 
courage,  but  in  the  end  it  was  done.  Kath- 
arine heard  the  story  with  scrupulous  atten- 
tion, but  she  spoke  hardly  at  all. 

"  He  comes  usually  at  this  hour.  Shall  I 
stay  with  you  ?  "  asked  the  meek  Carrie  when 
the  ordeal  was  over. 

"  I  should  prefer  not,"  said  Katharine.  "  I 
have  some  thinking  and  readjusting  to  do. 
Somehow  he  is  always  demanding  readjust- 
ments of  one." 

"Might  I  suggest,"  laughed  Carrie,  who, 
having  confessed  and  being  forgiven,  was  in 
20 1 


"Uhe  fsle  of  'Dreams 


a  radiant  state  of  self-righteousness,  "that 
you  begin  with  your  hair  and  frock.  You 
must  be  looking  your  best  just  to  show  him 
how  weak  his  memory  was." 

Katharine  banished  her  with  scorn  and  con- 
tumely, but  when,  half  an  hour  later,  Mrs. 
Denis  ushered  Ford  into  her  darling's  pres- 
ence, even  she  was  surprised  at  the  fairness 
of  the  girl  who  stood  at  the  window  with 
Doris  Gwendolin  Patricia  clinging  to  her 
hand.  She  was  clad  in  pale  and  shimmering 
green,  and  a  spray  of  apple  blossoms  rose  and 
fell  with  her  quick  breathing. 

"  Miss  Katharine,  dear,"  began  Mrs.  Denis, 
"  here's  the  Beautiful  Gentleman  come  to  see 
you,"  and  in  the  laughter  following  upon  this 
announcement  much  of  the  embarrassment 
natural  to  the  meeting  was  lost. 

Denis  detached  Doris  Gwendolin  Patricia 
and  left  Katharine  and  Robert  face  to  face 
upon  that  equal  ground  which  both  had 
worked  so  hard  to  reach.  He  was  the  first 
to  speak. 

"  A  year  ago  I  asked  you  to  listen  to  an 
explanation — you  were  to  have  met  me  on  the 
202 


Ssle   of  'Droams 


sea  wall  in  the  morning.  Can  you  spare  me 
a  few  moments  now  ?  " 

"  But  I  am  no  longer  in  need  of  explana- 
tion," she  replied  gently.  "Believe  me,  Mr. 
Ford,  Carrie  and  Tom  have  just  been  telling 
me  of  the  extent  of  my  new  indebtedness  to 
you." 

"  It  was  entirely  a  matter  of  business  and 
honesty — though  the  combination  of  terms 
seems  unusual — and  there  is  no  question  of 
obligation  at  all.  If  there  were,"  he  laughed 
as  she  made  a  little  gesture  of  dissent,  "  it 
would  have  been  all  upon  my  side.  I've  had 
what  Jack  would  call  'the  time  of  my  life' 
hustling  the  art  world.  But  I  hope  I  brought 
your  Fame  Boy  through  it,  quite  unscathed." 

"You  are  very  good,"  said  Katharine. 
"  We  have  both  been  rather  busy  undoing  the 
work  of  that  little  gallery  of  yours.  While 
you  were  making  me  famous,  I've  been  trying 
to  make  those  pictures  something  like  as  val- 
uable as  you  thought  them." 

"  And  I've  parted  with  them ! " 

"  And  I,"  she  supplemented  ruefully,  "  I've 
ceased  to  care  for  fame.  In  Paris  they  gave 
14  203 


Ttho  Sslo  o 


me  a  medal.  That  meant  fame.  And  I  could 
find  no  one  to  rejoice  with  me,  no  one  even  to 
dine  with  me  that  night.  And  I  dined  alone 
in  a  restaurant,  and  realized — many  things." 

"  I  think,"  said  Robert  Ford,  "  that  I  could 
undertake  to  rejoice  with  you,  and  I  should 
be  most  happy,  if  you  will  allow  it,  to  arrange 
that  you  are  not  again  obliged  to  dine  alone." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  Katharine  laughed. 

"  No,  really,"  Ford  reiterated,  "  I  assure 
you  I  shall  be  most  happy." 


204 


XVIII 

XT  was  Friday  afternoon  again,  and 
all  the  west  was  gold  when  Kath- 
arine   and    Robert    Ford    left   the 
train  at  the  little  station  and   found  Pierre 
waiting  for  them. 

The  Katrinka  was  at  the  dock  with  Captain 
Jameson  in  beaming  attendance.  She  was 
outlined  in  an  array  of  pennants  which  seemed 
to  comprise  every  possible  signal  in  the  code 
of  happiness,  and,  as  Katharine  stepped 
aboard,  the  commodore's  flag  flew  aloft  and 
snapped  triumphantly  in  the  breeze.  In  an 
ecstasy  of  pride  Captain  Jameson  fired  a  sa- 
lute with  a  small  cannon  before  trusting  him- 
self to  speak.  Then  he  bared  his  shaggy  head 
and  addressed  his  passenger  in  the  following 
carefully  comprehensive  speech : 

"  You  are  hearty  welcome  back,  miss.    I've 
205 


fsle  of 


took  the  best  of  care  of  this  here  craft,  sir, 
and  you'll  excuse  me  passing  the  remark  that 
you're  as  lovely  as  ever,  ma'am." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  captain!  "  She  smiled  at 
him,  and  then  turned  to  Ford — she  had  de- 
veloped a  habit  of  turning  to  Ford — while  the 
captain  went  forward  with  a  boat  hook. 

"  Robert,"  said  Katharine,  but  she  had  not 
yet  learned  to  say  it  without  a  blush,  nor  had 
he  learned  to  hear  it  without  a  sudden  widen- 
ing of  the  eyes  and  lifting  of  the  head.  Cap- 
tain Jameson,  looking  back,  caught  these 
changes  in  transit,  and  tried  to  hide  his  two 
hundred  blue-clad  pounds  behind  the  mast. 
"  Ain't  no  hurry  about  casting  off,"  he  in- 
formed the  universe  at  large.  "  There's  lots 
of  daylight  left." 

"Robert,"  began  Katharine  again,  with  an 
air  of  custom  which  her  eyes  still  belied, 
"  did  you  plan  all  this  ?  Was  it  your  idea  ?  " 

"  No,  really,  my  sweet  Kate,"  he  protested, 
"Jameson  thought  of  it.  I  only  sent  him  a 
wire  from  Albany  that  we  should  be  coming 
home  to-day.  He  did  all  the  rest." 

"With  the  help,  ma'am,"  Captain  Jameson 
206 


Js/ff   of  'Dreams 


supplemented,  "  of  Mrs.  Jameson,  who  wished 
me  to  present  her  compliments  an'  say  she  is 
ready — if  not  prevented  by  Bertha — to  wait 
upon  you  at  any  time." 

"  She  is  very  kind,"  said  Katharine  politely. 
She  had  never,  she  reflected,  heard  that  the 
captain  was  married ;  had  bestowed  no  thought 
upon  his  domestic  arrangements.  The  vague- 
ness of  her  manner  drew  him  to  hold  further 
communion  with  the  universe.  "  She  don't 
guess  it,"  he  pointed  out  to  the  encircling 
horizon;  "the  very  idee  ain't  crossed  her 
blessed  mind,"  and  then  reported  in  a  sten- 
torian bellow,  "  she's  cast  off,  ma'am.  Hard 
a  starboard,  if  you  please." 

But  Katharine  still  turned  to  Robert.  "  You 
must  take  the  wheel,"  she  urged.  "  You  are 
in  command." 

"Then  you  must  set  the  course.  Whither 
away.  Let  me  hear  you  say  the  word." 

"  Home,  dear,"  she  said  obediently,  but  it 
was  Captain  Jameson  who  steered  into  the 
sunset,  while  his  passengers  kept  up  a  desul- 
tory conversation  in  which  silence  was  as  elo- 
quent as  speech. 

207 


fsle  of  2)r*ams 


"And  I  was  to  further  say,  ma'am,"  said 
Captain  Jameson,  when  he  considered  it  again 
his  turn  to  engage  Katharine's  attention,  "  as 
how  Mrs.  Jameson  and  me  hopes  it  don't  look 
to  you  as  something  of  a  liberty:  our  going 
through  the  ceremony  the  same  day  and  only 
an  hour  after  yourselves.  But,  as  she  says  to 
me  often  an'  often  before  ever  you  come  home, 
ma'am,  '  I'll  never  taste  happiness  until  my 
Lamb  is  happy,  too.'  " 

"You  don't  mean,"  cried  Katharine  with 
kindling  eyes,  "  you  can't  mean " 

"  Besides  which,"  the  captain  pursued,  "  she 
was  busy,  very  busy,  as  you  may  remember, 
ma'am,  what  with  one  thing  an'  another.  But 
she  was  perticular  sot  that  I  should  tell  you 
with  her  love  as  how  she  was  always  ready, 
as  her  life's  habit  was,  to  wait  upon  your  little 
wants.  She  feels  that  Bertha's  experience 
with  Ody  Colone,  hairdressing  and  etcetera 
cannot  equal — nor  ain't  expected  to  equal — 
her  own.  There  was  words  on  this  subject 
between  them  two  females  when  I  was  leaving 
the  Island  to-day.  I  don't  know,  for  sure, 
how  they  come  out,  but  me  an'  Mrs.  Jameson 
208 


T>he  Jsle   of  Vreams 


has  been  married  five  weeks  now,  an'  I  have 
a  idee  she  may  git  her  way." 

"  Have  you  married  my  Denis  ?  "  demanded 
Katharine ;  and  then  to  Robert :  "  Did  you  let 
him  take  my  Denis  away  from  me  ?  " 

"  He  has  only  brought  her  home  for  you," 
Ford  reminded  her.  "  Would  you  have  left 
her  alone  in  that  house?  You  know  it  would 
have  been  empty  for  her." 

"  Oh,  no,  not  to  say  took  her  away  from 
you,  ma'am,"  the  captain  corroborated.  "  She 
can  be  with  you  as  much  as  you  asks.  Me  an' 
Mrs.  Jameson  an'  the  little  tad " 

"Your  other  adorer,  Doris  Gwendolin  Pa- 
tricia," Robert  explained. 

" — will  always  take  commands  as  honors," 
the  captain  ended  in  a  burst  of  pride,  and  re- 
turned to  his  official  preoccupations. 

"  Denis  married  you  without  a  word  to  me," 
Katharine  marveled;  "what  possible  reason 
can  she  have  had  for  not  telling  me?  I  grant 
you  I  kept  her  busy,  but  that  was  because  I 
didn't  know." 

"  She  wouldn't  have  you  know  beforehand, 
ma'am,"  Jameson  explained,  "nor  you 
209 


fste   of  'Dream 


neither,  sir.  She  says — she  has  a  wonderful 
way  with  words,  Mrs.  Jameson  has — '  being 
married  is  all  right  for  people  of  our  age, 
Silas,  my  dear.  It's  all  right  an'  natural  when 
it's  done  an'  over  with.  But  git  tin'  married 
is  for  young  things  like  Miss  Katharine  an' 
Mr.  Robert.  We'd  be  two  old  fools  to  tell 
we  was  goin'  to  do  it.  But  we'd  be  a  whole 
lunatic  asylum  not  to  do  it.'  So,  when  we  two 
saw  you  two  drive  away  from  the  church  so 
happy  an'  so  handsome,  if  you'll  excuse  my 
passing  the  remark,  we  went  back  an'  was 
married,  as  I  have  the  honor  to  report,  right 
after  an'  by  the  same  sky  pilot.  An'  I  hope 
you'll  agree  with  me  that  the  second  bride 
warn't  bad  to  look  at." 

"  Why,  she  was  lovely,"  cried  Katharine, 
"and  Mrs.  Drummond  planned  her  dress  as 
carefully  as  she  did  mine.  And  she  never 
told  me !  I  remember  that  I  was  surprised 
when  she  did  not  cry.  However,  I  was  glad 
she  didn't;  but  I  remember  rather  expecting 
it,  and  being  happily  disappointed.  But  of 
course  she  couldn't  cry  on  her  wedding 
day.  How  I  wish  I  had  known!  Some  one 
210 


fsto  of  2)ream* 


should  have  warned  me  that  she  was  as  busy 
as  I." 

And  her  memory  traveled  back  to  the  two 
months  between  her  return  from  France  and 
her  marriage.  Eight  weeks  of  sheer  breath- 
less happiness  and  hurry — for  herself  and  for 
all  her  household.  How  the  quiet  square  had 
echoed  to  the  snorting  of  Pierre's  motor  car, 
the  arriving  and  departing  of  delivery  wagons, 
the  constant  closing  of  the  bright-featured 
front  door!  How  Carrie  Drummond's  di- 
minutive person  had  disappeared  in  billows  of 
diaphanous  summer  shopping,  as  she  devoted 
her  tireless  energy  and  her  faultless  taste  to  the 
superintendence  of  the  trousseau.  How  the 
Misses  Drummond  and  Doris  Gwendolin  Pa- 
tricia had  spurned  the  fountain,  the  grass  plots, 
and  the  garden  benches  in  favor  of  the  hall 
— that  thoroughfare  for  mysterious  packages 
and  hurrying  servants.  How  with  each  suc- 
ceeding day  the  thermometer  mounted  and  the 
excitement  followed  it  until  the  quiet  old  house 
was  changed  to  a  seething  furnace.  But  every 
day  brought  its  quiet  hour  when  Robert  came, 
and  restored  peace  and  sanity  while  his  visit 

211 


"Uhe  Sale  of 


endured.  Then  would  the  younger  Miss  Drum- 
mond  have  her  little  moment  of  importance. 
She  would  patter  down  to  the  waiting  car  and 
— followed  and  admired,  but  never  emulated 
by  the  elder  Miss  Drummond  and  Doris  Gwen- 
dolin  Patricia — she  would  proceed  to  beguile 
the  leisure  or  to  cheer  tire  occupations  of  the 
waiting  Pierre.  Then  would  the  feet  of  the 
maids  cease  from  destroying  the  carpet  upon 
the  stairs.  Then  would  parcels  be  allowed  to 
accumulate  unchallenged  in  the  darkened  re- 
ception room.  Then  would  Carrie  Drummond 
bestow  an  errant  thought  upon  her  own 
much-neglected  career,  and  all  things  fall 
into  their  accustomed  ways  until  the  gentle 
splashing  of  the  fountain  was  heard  again  in 
the  house. 

And  through  all  the  turmoil  and  clash  of 
these  eight  weeks,  Mrs.  Denis  had  moved,  se- 
rene, dignified,  and  bland.  This  placidity  was 
so  unexpected  in  one  of  her  nurse's  race  and 
romanticism  that  Katharine  had  wondered  if 
it  were  not  a  pose  assumed  and  retained  at 
the  cost  of  herculean  repression,  and  leading 
straight  to  hysterical  collapse. 
212 


fsle   of  ^Dreams 


Another  alteration  appeared  in  Mrs.  Denis's 
psychic  attitude  at  the  same  time.  She  devel- 
oped a  positive  craving  for  "  dangerous  look- 
in'  signs,"  and  would  point  out  to  Robert  the 
rare  occasions  upon  which  she  considered  that 
he  had  not  done  his  full  duty  as  an  ardent 
lover  should. 

"  Leaving  so  soon,  sir ! "  she  would  remon- 
strate when  some  detail  of  his  lady's  pleasure 
or  his  own  business  caused  him  to  curtail  his 
visit.  "  Twenty-seven  minutes  is  but  a  short 
time  to  spend  in  a  maiden's  bower  when  dec- 
orated especial  for  your  coming.  And  I 
should  like  you  to  know,  sir,"  she  would  add 
when  occasion  demanded,  "  that  the  violets 
laid  this  morning  at  her  feet  was  not  as  fresh 
as  might  be  desired  to  express  the  thoughts  of 
love.  And  there  was  a  day  last  week  when 
your  daily  letter  was  not  in  the  first  mail.  It 
come  in  the  second,  but  a  hour's  wait  is  try- 
ing to  the  feelings." 

"  I   telephoned,"    Ford    would    explain    in 

smiling   extenuation,  and  even  the  exacting 

Mrs.  Denis  had  admitted  that  his  speech,  his 

manner,    and    his    habits    had    bristled    with 

213 


"Uho  fsle  of  Breams 


alarming  symptoms.  So  she  had  gone  plac- 
idly and  consequentially  through  all  vicissi- 
tudes of  joy,  of  shopping,  of  merrymaking, 
and  packing,  upheld  by  the  different  but  no 
less  constant  manifestations  of  Captain  Jame- 
son's regard.  His  letters  were  in  the  abbre- 
viated form  of  a  ship's  log,  and  the  blossoms 
of  his  affection  took  the  more  enduring  form 
of  sea  shells  or  the  full-rigged  models  of  his- 
toric vessels. 

"  Dear  old  Denis,  too,"  mused  Katharine. 
"  I  think,  Robert,  that  you  are  a  very  won- 
derful man.  You  think  of  everybody — make 
everybody  happy." 

"  Myself  most  of  all,  sweet  Kate,"  he  an- 
swered ;  "  always  myself  most  of  all." 

The  Katrinka  was  approaching  the  Island, 
and  the  house  showed  very  white  and  cool 
among  its  trees  and  gardens  when  Katharine 
spoke  again. 

"  It  is  very  beautiful,"  she  breathed, 
"more  beautiful  even  than  I  remembered 
it.  It  looks  hardly  real  in  all  that  shining 
light." 

"  It  is  real,  my  fair  Kate,"  her  husband  as- 
214 


fsle  of 


sured  her.  "  Long  ago  you  showed  me  the 
wonders  of  '  The  Isle  of  Dreams/  and  now 
I'm  taking  you  to  the  Island  where  the  dreams 
come  true." 


(i) 


THE   END 


215 


By  DAVID  GRAHAM  PHILLIPS. 

The  Second  Generation. 

Illustrated.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  The  Second  Generation  "  is  a  double-decked  romance 
in  one  volume,  telling  the  two  tove-stories  of  a  young 
American  and  his  sister,  reared  in  luxury  and  suddenly  left 
without  means  by  their  father,  who  felt  that  money  was 
proving  their  ruination  and  disinherited  them  for  their  own 
sakes.  Their  struggle  for  life,  love  and  happiness  makes  a 
powerful  love-story  of  the  middle  West. 

"The  book  equals  the  best  of  the  great  story  tellers  of  all 
time." — Cleveland  Plain  Dealer. 

" '  The  Second  Generation ,'  by  David  Graham  Phillips,  is  not 
only  the  most  important  novel  of  the  new  year,  but  it  is  one  of  the 
most  important  ones  of  a  number  of  years  past." 

— Philadelphia  Inquirer, 

"  A  thoroughly  American  book  is  '  The  Second  Generation.' 
.  .  .  The  characters  are  drawn  with  force  and  discrimination." 

— St.  Lout's  Globe  Democrat. 

"Mr.  Phillips'  book  is  thoughtful,  well  conceived,  admirably 
written  and  intensely  interesting.  The  story  'works  out'  well, 
and  though  it  is  made  to  sustain  the  theory  of  the  writer  it  does 
so  in  a  very  natural  and  stimulating  manner.  In  the  writing  of  the 
'  problem  novel '  Mr.  Phillips  has  won  a  foremost  place  among  our 
younger  American  authors." — Boston  Herald. 

" '  The  Second  Generation  '  promises  to  become  one  of  the  nota- 
ble novels  of  the  year.  It  will  be  read  and  discussed  while  a  less 
vigorous  novel  will  be  forgotten  within  a  week." 

— Springfield  Union. 

"  David  Graham  Phillips  has  a  way,  a  most  clever  and  convinc- 
ing way,  of  cutting  through  the  veneer  of  snobbishness  and  bringing 
real  men  and  women  to  the  surface.  He  strikes  at  shams,  yet  has 
a  wholesome  belief  in  the  people  behind  them,  and  he  forces  them 
to  justify  his  good  opinions." — Kansas  City  Times. 

D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW     YORK. 


THE  LEADING  NOVEL  OF  TODAY. 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

By  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS.  Illustrated  by  A.  B. 
Wenzell.  I2mo.  Ornamental  Cloth,  $1.50. 

In  "The  Fighting  Chance"  Mr.  Chambers  has  taken 
for  his  hero,  a  young  fellow  who  has  inherited  with  his 
wealth  a  craving  for  liquor.  The  heroine  has  inherited  a 
certain  rebelliousness  and  dangerous  caprice.  The  two, 
meeting  on  the  brink  of  ruin,  fight  out  their  battles,  two 
weaknesses  joined  with  love  to  make  a  strength.  It  is  re- 
freshing to  find  a  story  about  the  rich  in  which  all  the 
women  are  not  sawdust  at  heart,  nor  all  the  men  satyrs. 
The  rich  have  their  longings,  their  ideals,  their  regrets, 
as  well  as  the  poor ;  they  have  their  struggles  and  inherited 
evils  to  combat.  It  is  a  big  subject,  painted  with  a  big 
brush  and  a  big  heart. 

"  After  '  The  House  of  Mirth '  a  New  York  society  novel 
has  to  be  very  good  not  to  suffer  fearfully  by  comparison 
'  The  Fighting  Chance '  is  very  good  and  it  does  not 
suffer." — Cleveland  Plain  Dealer. 

"There  is  no  more  adorable  person  in  recent  fiction 
than  Sylvia  Landis." — New  York  Evening  Sun, 

"  Drawn  with  a  master  hand." — Toledo  Blade. 

"An  absorbing  tale  which  claims  the  reader's  interest 
to  the  end." — Detroit  Free  Press. 

"  Mr.  Chambers  has  written  many  brilliant  stories,  but 
this  is  his  masterpiece." — Pittsburg  Chronicle  Telegraph. 


D.    APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW    YORK. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


41584 


